


Immortal Mortal

by 1V1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Little Mermaid Elements, Love and Loss, Magic, Marriage of Convenience, Mute Reader, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Racism, Reader is described, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, Xenophobia, mentions of abuse, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2019-11-26 21:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1V1/pseuds/1V1
Summary: Born a human, raised as an Asgardian. Nameless, cast out of a society that wanted nothing to do with you. You, a child who ate an apple of Idunn and survived. Mute, cursed, you survived Hela, survived Ragnarok, Thanos, The Snap- and now on earth you face a new life mired by your old.A relic of time, a human who does not belong among them. An abomination, an Asgardian who does not belong among the Aesir. In your eyes is a sorrow, a heart song of pain and suffering that you must sing in silence. To all who look on you, they see a woman, but to Loki he sees a mystery.A woman who smiles softly as her soul weeps in silence.





	1. In where Loki discovers a Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will contain a lot of angst later on and, unlike a lot of my reader fics, this one DOES have physical characteristics described. I promise, this does have a role and place within the story. Also shout out to Caffiend who asked when I was gonna write Loki again and I said once I had MS Word again but then I fucking just start a whole new story like the gremlin I am.

He really hated all these ‘human’ methods of working. If one could call it working. After the debacle that was being proven once more killing him was next to impossible, gathering up the remaining Asgardians from both before and after the Snap, him and Thor getting the land, getting the cursed Avengers to understand no, he was not here to try and rule over anyone save his people in the capacity the heir apparent would, and no, he had no plans to kill Thor (yet)- Loki Odinson was looking over the paperwork from the world summit regarding the Asgardian immigration status and how they would proceed. After all, some had been already accepted, other, not. 

Out of a handful of survivors, a thimbleful of exiles and old war deserters who’d come out of the woodwork, the total Asgardian population was a paltry 487. Not including himself. The UN wanted a clarification as to what Thor and he meant when they designated one as Asgardian as well. Was that a nationality, (no), a race, (no, but close), a sect, (hardly)? Being an Asgardian was something mortals found confusing simply because their sense of identity was so rooted in location. 

A human, who’s ancestors were from one location could call themselves as from that place, yet also held a duality of calling themselves from a different nation in which they were born- which might not even be the place they currently lived! Maddening really. Yet another flaw with the mortal race. 

Heavily sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, Loki began to type on the infernal machine Stark had provided, (which admittedly, was better than other options and had at least the decency to not be so overtly monitoring as the other devices handed to him).  
‘An Asgardian, as defined by King Thor Odinson, First of his Name, First of his House, Prince of Vanaheim, (a title Loki had insisted he start using. Frigga had been a princess in her own right, and while distant from the Vanir throne, any form of credibility was to their benefit now), is a designation given to those who reside within the collective persons who accept the his rule and share the culture of the Aesir race. 

‘As such, those who are Aesir are born Asgardian by race and ancestry. However, others who are adopted by another Asgardian or into an Asgardian house are also designated as Asgardian as well. There is no distinction given between those born Aesir and those who are joined to an Asgardian home. However, this does not mean those who are taken in by Aesir are Asgardian. Aesir must accept the current King of Asgard and share the culture of the Asgardian people to have this designation. 

Aesir by default are considered Asgardian until the refute the King’s law, by which they renounce Asgard and her people and lose the designation. Children born Aesir yet not raised in Asgard are welcomed to petition to her king to become Asgardian. Any persons seeking to live in Asgard may do the same, yet lest they have a house willing to adopt them and claim them as kin by heart or by bond, they will not be given consideration.’

As he continued to type, he pointedly ignore the window on the screen showing an irate Tony Stark, who he could hear was asking about the little side project of the shielding and warding system that was being erected- a joint effort by Wakanda and Stark industries. 

Loki nearly crushed the mouse in his hand as the document was closed- without saving.

“Look Loki, I know you’re busy doing actual political things, but Thor is at a loss about the warding runes and why they’re not-”  
“Did you inscribe them with quartz or a laser etching device?”  
“Quartz?”  
“Yes. Are you deaf? Ask Thor to check how the runes are being set into the steel and what stone is being used to mount the structures on. If Thor is still at a loss on how to guide you, your Strange will be able to assist.”  
“He’s a doctor to you know.” Oh yes, he did. But unlike Banner or Foster, the insufferable man didn’t earn the right to use the distinguished title.  
“So am I, but not all of us feel so inferior we must insist upon our accolades. Now, if that is all, kindly stop bothering me while I actually do something meaningful.” 

Stark blessedly, closed his window, and Loki was greeted with the document he’d been working on. Also blessedly not blank. 

Breathing deeply to regain a sense of calm he pressed on. Thor and he needed to present before the UN by the week’s end and they still had roughly 129 Asgardians to file paperwork for and issue statement verifying their status.  
It would be a long night.

 

As such, days later, Loki looked to Thor, who looked to Loki who then looked to the woman standing at the foot of the raised dias. 

‘Girl’  
Age: Unknown  
Race: Midgardian  
Relation to Asgard: Adoptive daughter, (circa 1200s).  
Family:  
Brom Freyson, Step Father, (deceased). Yvanie, Birth mother (deceased), Jeof, Birth Father, (deceased). 

An adopted daughter by an Asgardian was no issue, nothing worth noting, even if they were biologically human, (something he and Thor anticipated to occur in the future by some of the elderly Asgardians).  
But she was utterly unique. She was just barely younger than himself. Her step-father, Brom had been a war hero in his time, and in saving Odin’s life in the Jotun invasion so long ago, and he’d been granted a wergeld. Brom, in that time, had fallen in love with a mortal woman of all things. A mortal woman who had a daughter from another man who’d died in said war. So, Brom had asked a price fitting his boon.

The apples of Idunn for his new wife and daughter, and for them to live in Asgard, ‘among the Gods’. Odin had granted it knowing full well what the apple could do to a human fully grown.  
Angry that Brom dared to ask such a thing, Odin did not offer aid to transition the woman to her new long lived status, to her new life as Asgardian. And so, the woman perished in her transition. Odin however had never expected the child to survive. A living testament to Odin’s loathing of mortals, he made Brom keep her, even stricken with grief and rage as he was. So, the girl was stripped of her birth name, and while she was taken to live in Asgard, she was never known of. Never spoken of. Her life was one of pure obscurity. Her step-father scorning her for surviving when her mother had not, and unable to be raised like an Aesir child, so weak in her original race. 

Brom called her only ‘girl’ and ‘child’. She had no name, and if she did, she would not divulge it. She was mute, though not for lacking in intellect. Heimdall disclosed Odin had long ago ordered him to keep his eyes from the girl, and never bother to look upon her. Yet Heimdall had looked upon her father and seen him raise hand and blade to the child and later, the woman. She was smaller than most Asgardians. A good foot shorter than him. Her hair was a bright ruby in his opinion. Flame bright as some might have called it. Humans these days dyed their hair for such a hue, but her’s was the legacy of her birth from another era. Eyes that were green as new growth, and lips pink and small, rosebud. Freckles kissed her skin like stars in the night sky, and the golden glow of her face was from years under the warm Asgardian sun tending to her gardens. 

She was versed in plants native to Asgard, gardening the thing her father had allowed her. Calluses on her hands spoke of a harsh life of toil. Well read, her initial test of Aesir history and various academia spoke of a higher education. She even was able to answer the small collection on sedir though she could not practice. When they asked her to respond, her fingers danced across a small notebook, the pen in hand writing out words in quick elegant script. 

She’d once worked at the palace gardens she’d said. That was where she’d learned- as a servant in employ, she’d been granted leave to use the library and had taken her leisure time there, teaching herself as she was not able to attend school as other Aesir children might. Everything about her screamed out of the norm. Unusual. Impossible even. 

Brom had sided with Hela, after all, he hated Odin and by extension his sons. He recalled Hela and he warmongering ways. He’d sided with her, and died with Asgard.  
His step-daughter, nameless, coinless, with nothing but a scachel of some clothes and seeds, had fled to the woods, and found Heimdall there led to the sanctuary. 

Yet she was human.  
Scorned and seen as something other. Everyone in their rush to escape Hela had not cared to mind her, and on the ship she’d made herself scarce. Never getting noticed, hiding away and never letting on that she had survived. In Thanos’s attack, she had witnessed the death of others, and had hidden then. Her salvation had come in the form of one of the escape pods, Valkyrie leading her and others to safety. 

Now, here she stood. Nameless. Homeless. Nothing in her possession but a bundle of worn clothes and some dried seeds. 

As Thor welcomed her, Loki stared at her, seeing how she met his gaze, unflinching her bright green eyes finding his sea touched own. She was anything but normal.

And when Thor asked for a name, one she might take, Loki saw the flash of sorrow, the mark of melancholy. Her hand moved slower, as if it brought her a pain to form the words on paper.  
‘Call me Asgardian. For that is all I have ever wanted to be.’  
And as he read the words he understood the heart pain in her eyes.

Alone, she was neither Aesir nor a true Asgardian. And even while Thor declared her as such- it did not change what she was. What so many others called her among those who knew her and had survived to give her tale credence.

Without a name, those who would be her people had already given her one long ago, the day she’d bitten into the gold skinned fruit and had ceased to he a true human mortal-  
They had simply called her the Abomination.


	2. In where Loki deals with idiot company

They had decided to call her Ariel. A terrible moniker in Loki’s opinion. The midgardian tale was childish in it’s happy ending. The princess of the sea loses her kingdom out of love, only to find another and find acceptance. Loki personally felt it offensive. Since when had the mute woman been accepted among asgardians? Much less, on midgard even now? After Thor had quite literally put her inclusion to the document of registered Asgardians last minute, the woman had already been subjected to by far, abysmal treatment.

She had been given a small house at the far end of the new market square, out of reach to most commerce and communal buildings. Small, it would house her and her alone. A bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. Oh but Loki, he thought, it has a garden! Yes, a weed ridden plot of clay, unsuited for growing anything but flavorless meal. He didn’t know why it upset him as it did- perhaps it was the fact that she seemed so…  
Thankful.

The woman had broken into tears at her registry documents being presented to her, falling to her knees and bowing with more flourish and enthusiasm than Loki had seen in hundreds of years. At the document signifying she had a house, land? The woman wrote she would give them both, (both!) a wergeld. Thor had declined. Loki had accepted, (much to Thor’s ire). How could he not? When Thor refused, the hurt in her eyes was real, visceral. She wanted to show her devotion, her thanks in the only way she could. She’d been timid, shy and unable to even look at them, and even when Thor had tried to just touch her, to comfort her, she’d recoiled, shying from him like a wounded animal.

Loki could see how deep the scars on her ran, even if Thor did not. Perhaps, he mused that was why he felt so affronted on her behalf. In the end- she was registered, and now, the vultures of the Un could not spirit her away, using her in tests, no doubt selling samples of her DNA to groups who would try to recreate the apples, to make new super soilders.  
Now registered, it only ceased the midgardian badgering, now she was to suffer the indignation of her surname being registered as ‘Asgarddottir’. Asgard dottir. Daughter of Asgard. No- she was born on the soil of earth. And worse, in her own telling, it was not even in the north of Europe where her mother had met her step-father.

She’d been born on the green isle. The distant shore- Ireland as it was called now. Her mother and her had been taken captive as slaves- it was how her mother and her had managed to escape the invading giants. After all, mortals cared not for slaves when their own lives fell to risk. And from the woman’s telling, her mother had been a fighter, enough for them both. Warrior blood the woman said. Her mother had called them such and while the woman could not speak, she remembered the words- words of a language long dead. Runes that were now only in text books and remembered by Scholars like himself. She was, more and more, a living relic. 

Loki found her sobering. She was a living reminder of how Odin had let his fear of outsiders color his rule, how he allowed atrocities to be done under his name, and how quick he was to ignore the sufferings of those he saw lesser. Time had opened Loki’s eyes to it. His own tragedy, his musing in the dungeons- his time on the throne, an imposter, and now- in the wake of Hela, Loki saw a woman who was, should have been, protected like any other Asgardian. Yet Odin had told Heimdall to ignore. And for it, she bore scars on her heart and soul, ones he could see still dripping red with each step she took on the gilded streets of this new Asgard. 

“Stop looking so sour.” Thor drew him from his musings, looking at him with a glare. Most of the original avengers had come and were ‘staying’ in a limited capacity to oversee the new flood of aliens- and mostly, to keep an eye on him. He honestly didn’t mind half of them, notably Stark and the Widow. They understood why he stayed, and, why they had little to fear of him now. Banner was always just a bit jumpy. As for the archer… well.  
He was retired and spending time with his children. Just as how the captain had retired and was now serving peacekeeping missions.  
“Care to share Lokes?” Stark held up his water bottle as if it were a beer. The motion and thought had Loki change it to taste of such.  
“No.” The simple one word answer sufficed to him, though it had earned him a look from Natasha.  
“It’s the woman- still not finding her name appropriate.” Damn spy knew too much about body language.  
Thor scoffed. “It’s a fine name! It’s a easy for to help her-”  
“Help her what Thor? Remind her she is not Asgardian? Or better, to try and get her integrated to midgardians who she will outlive and forever be unable to join on a daily level?” Thor’s look soured this time, and Loki felt a twinge of cruel pride, twisting the knife. “Or best, remind her she is named for her disability? Yes, a stroke of genius.”  
“Hey, now, Thor was doing his best- and it is a good name.” Stark ever the defender.  
“He has valid points.” Yet Banner defended logic. “I mean, if someone called me Gamma after what happened to me… I wouldn’t be comfortable with that.”  
“She was fine with the name.” Thor defended. “Besides, why does it matter? She needed one, and it’s not like you have an interest- unless of course you do.” He was trying tonight. “Didn’t know you liked red-heads.”

Stark laughed into his drink, looking to Natasha, who just rolled her eyes.  
“I don’t.” Loki took in a breath. “But she deserves better than being forced to live under the name of who she is not.” 

He left them, not wanting to explain. To tell them and give them the details of how he saw her move, her fear each time she looked up, each time eyes met another face, how she flinched, how she winced, how she wept and smiled and how it burned.  
It burned because he could taste every lie.  
She lied- she was bleeding out, saying yes when she wanted to scream no. And the worst of it all-

“She won’t be hurt again.” The widow followed, and her felt his shoulders slacken.  
Worst of all the ones who could see her lie were the only ones who could not say how.  
“She’ll find her name, eventually.”  
“I have my doubts.”  
“I would assume so- but even if they don’t, won’t accept her, this is still a new start. S.H.I.E.L.D wants to look into her origins. From what she knows and learned, she’s a wealth of information for historics. Her ability to ID some of those relics-”  
“Do you think she sees them as relics?” Natasha went silent and Loki knew his point had been made. The woman, however unusual, was not a tool.  
“For now, we let her adapt, as all Asgardians must. Like others, Thor and myself will meet with her monthly to assess her integration to midgardian society and customs.”

As the woman shifted, Loki looked to her. “Think she’ll recover?” All of them had seen the files on every Asgardian- and it had been a point of discussion, their human Asgardian.  
“No.” As much as he wanted to lie, he couldn’t. “She’s already being sequestered and made separate from the others. Thor doesn’t see it that way.”  
“You know if anyone who abused her are still around they’ll just target her again.”  
“Heimdall is to watch over them all now, her included. Besides, I doubt many of them realize… she has such little memory of earth. You know the name she said she would not mind being called?” Widow let him talk.  
“Sea- as in the ocean. Her reason was that it was something she remembered of here, even when she lived on Asgard, she could recall the sea of Midgard.”  
“Ariel might be a nice name but-”  
“It’s not her name.” 

They fell to silence.  
“Thank you.” He figured it best to get it over with.  
“For?”  
“Are you going to make me elaborate?”  
“Well you probably never thank anyone so yes.”  
He rolled his eyes and huffed at her. “Thank you for speaking up on her behalf. I dislike relieving how I see her distress so easily, much less how she lies about her own comfort. In a way, it is best they do not know. She can’t be made to feel she is give special attention even if she will be regardless.”

Natasha smiled, leaving him to his own thoughts. Leaving him to wonder what she would do for work. As far as he knew, she was having to join a class they were holding to teach local customs and technology. It was a start.

 

Meanwhile, deft hands worked hard soil, dragging it in buckets from a nearby forest to their small plot of land, tilling it, working into the clay earth and carbon from burnt wood. In the twilight they looked at dark brown earth and smiled. No matter how long the day, the evening comes.


	3. Where Loki finds a Hidden Gem

No matter what they did to the various meats, plants- nothing tasted like true asgardian food. Oh they’d come close- but the spices were just a bit off. Not quite hitting the exact mark with flavor or texture. Meats varied in flavors but nothing had the same depth. Soil so varied on earth meant a varying degree of uniqueness which while enticing, culinarily invigorating, never would allow for the same thing as what they had known.

What could they really expect however? With the loss of Asgard, was the loss of all they had known. Grains for making even such a simple thing as bread- it was a civilization lost. Food, Loki thought, was historically the unsung hero of culture. No matter where you went in the cosmos, food was the ultimate connective unison. The universal understood absolute required thing that all races would fight and die for. If you controlled the resources to have food, you controlled everything. Just so, had Loki wanted to truly conquer earth, he’d have started in China and from there branching to most of the rural farming regions of North America and Euro-Asia. 

That still did not offer a comfort to his thoughts, pushing a small pile of roasted lamb to the side of his plate. It was, for earthen standards, top quality. A truly king’s crown worthy feast. Yet to him, it was wrong. Too aromatic with the herbs, the spices not so complex. Close but not there- sometime he wondered if he could petition to visit Vanaheim to see about seeds that were Asgardian native. But without the proper soil type and conditions it wouldn’t matter.  
“Loki,” Thor’s voice broke the silence of their supper, and he looked up, noticing how Thor too, was not eating as much as he might have in the past. “Eat, it is wasteful to squander what gifts we’ve been given.” Charity.

The UN had sent food stuffs, livestock that was purchased to start up the tiny nation. Wakanda had given aid in the form of Technology aided by himself and a few other scholars, Stark had helped with funding, and Thor’s request of the UN to pay him for his part in earth’s salvation, while striking many as less than heroic, was understood. He was king with a people to care for now, and had to look after them first and foremost. And now with his drunken stupor gone, he'd taken to actually being king.  
“I could say the same to you. Your portions are not big enough.” The stare was met, and both men took each other’s words as they were- reminders that despite it all, they had to endure. Thor had to eat for his strength, just as Loki did. He could hear Frigga’s voice- reminding them to eat, how else would they have the energy to train. Now it served as cold reminder- they had to eat what they had, lest they want to waste away. Adapt. They just had to adapt.

Plates cleaned, Thor having his usual second helping, the brothers stared at each other before Loki broke the silence. “Dessert?”  
“Oh right.” It was odd, the asgardian they hired an older man who’d been a member of the waitstaff now the only acting waitstaff. But it mattered little too- their castle might be large and ornate, but most of the rooms were for guests or hosting events. Thor’s wing had traditional rooms. One for his wife. Rooms for children, a nursery- all undecorated, unused. His own wing, the familial wing, as he’d called it, had his room, as well as ones to match Thor’s own. They’d agreed on it after all. Should a time come when Loki might ascend to the throne or he become king of Jotunheim and begin to mix duties, he’d need his own wing. Plus, he also had his own labs. 

The dessert was brought in white china clattering on bare wood. Small plates- icecream from a local shop, good quality, (chocolate, Loki admitted, was one thing earth had going for it), and-  
“Loki!” Thor held it up. The oval shape was domed, a golden pasty flecked with coase brown bits of plant. More specifically, an herb that was Asgardian- muselroot. Hot, sweet, it made your tongue numb for a moment then would cover in a hot spiced flavor that mellowed to sweet in seconds. A treat for many an Asgardian child.  
He picked up the one on his plate and looked at it in awe. How? Did someone donate these? As far as he knew, all traders on the ship had lost their limited wares in the flight from Thanos.  
“Mosl! I haven’t had one in years!” Thor bit in before Loki could stop him, and-

Tears. Tears beaded at Thor’s eyes. Loki, gingerly followed suit. The flavor burst over his tongue and for a second, he was back on Asgard. Sitting in his study, pouring over tomes from Alfheim, a glass of milk by his side as he nibbled on the confectionary treat.  
He didn’t realize he was too crying till he looked at Thor, who was just smiling, knowing the same feeling.  
Brothers they were he supposed, in the end.

Yet days past, and neither spoke of it. How had the cookies been given? Donated? They had been fresh. More, made with the proper spice, the Asgradian way. In reflection the flour was a bit softer, but that was likely due to the Midgardian wheat flour. It plagued him like a spectre. He craved the flavor. Months without a single reminder of home and then, like a long lost lover’s whisper, it returned. He felt like a drugged victim seeking more of their chosen poison. Yet for all his queries, none told him who had donated the cookies. Just so- many guarded what little they had with a ferocity. 

 

It might have been a few months since they’d gotten settled, yet still it wasn’t home. It felt so transient, so temporal. Perhaps that would be the feelings in New Asgard. Near immortal beings, among those whos lives were so fleeting, in a world that changed at a moment’s notice. Nothing was secure, nothing was to remain as it was. In that Loki mused, was the folly of it all. Asgardians stagnated, and it had helped lead to their fall. He knew first hand how hard pressed things were to change when he ruled as Odin. Even when he’d tried to have magic more widely accepted, many still saw it as something unnatural. Or rather, not a thing one used in ‘honorable combat’. Much good it did when half your enemies would just as well pull a gun and shoot you.

If Loki had to live in his own head, minding his new role and duty as heir, pretending to be obedient and not at least a little bit mischievous, he was going to go mad. At least in Asgard he could explore. Here, he was limited, stifled. By Strange keeping unneeded tabs on him, (which he already regularly slipped out of, easier than he’d done with Heimdall’s gaze), or by the whole ‘oh you tried to enslave us but not really for Thanos but actually helped stall him and save everyone at great cost to yourself’ hangup humans had with him leaving the tiny nation they had built. So- walking around their ‘capital city’ it was.

It wasn’t like things changed much here either. Everyone worked their new jobs, falling quickly into their routines. Months to get here, but now, Loki knew, things would stay as they were. That familiarity in stagnation. It would take maybe 100 years to break the habit, if not sooner. Living among humans was going to aid in that needed endeavor greatly. Sure, half the people refused any changes, and Thor was hesitant but Loki welcomed it. Maybe it was the slumbering aspect as a chaos deity in him, but change was needed. 

Today’s walk had him meandering from the main streets to the more residential areas. What struck him was how the homes were so… ornate. Which made sense. If one had unlimited funds to build a new home, you’d want it in a dream style, so it wasn’t surprising most common folk had their homes built like gentry. Their gardens were lined with flowers, lawns green and trimmed. Right out of a picture book. If it was one thing Loki at least could appreciate it was Asgardian’s attention to detail and presentation. The open fields were also in this direction if he remembered correctly. Near-

Loki looked at it.

A tiny house, modest, made of grey stone,and a roof that while modern, reminded him of- “Very archaic.” He muttered. It looked like someone had chosen a more rustic style of house. Old worlde humans called it. But it was over growing with plants. Vines of a sort already spilled over the stone fence, and the air- each step he took closer to it the scent grew. Floral- earthy. A garden he realized as he peered over the wall, various herbs and vegetables growing in neat rows, and, he noted, placed in such a manner as to naturally keep away pests and little beasties. The scent that was coming from the house was more homey. The scent he felt he knew but couldn’t place. 

He was a prince, Loki reasoned, and as such, he was supposed to look in on his people. 

Smirking, he strode to the metal gate, opening it, glad it at least, did not creak. In time, it would, but it was still too new for that. His feet carried him across the stone path to the home, where he abruptly fell short, turning to walk left, to the rather large garden of vegetables and fruits. Some had begun to flower but nothing was fruiting yet. In a few weeks or months however, it was clear there would be a wondrous yield. And the herbs!  
Bending, he reached down, plucking a leaf of newly sprung sage in his fingers, he rubbed it to break the fibers, the scent hitting hard, and when he brought it to taste?

He ate it. Strong- pungent. The perfect quality for not just cooking but the old style of alchemical potion making. Rosemary. Thyme. Lavender. Chive. Basil- he saw them all, new sprouts, picking a new leaf off each one, letting the scent hit then tasting. Divine. The seeds could be any quality, but these plants were cared for. No doubt their master would notice even his ginger picking and fret over them. Getting up, he looked to the other plants. Melon. Squash- gourds of a variety. Berries, peppers, tomatoes- He wondered how the gardener planned to keep such a temperamental plant alive. Such things were better suited for warmer climes. Perhaps they planned to make a greenhouse enclosure? Eyes scanned the lot, and saw he was right. There was a defined outline in part of it that would accommodate a greenhouse wall if erected. Planting now, allowing it to grow accustomed a bit to the soil and slight flux before boxing it in later in the season. Odd choice but he could understand it. 

His curiosity was still piqued. There was more behind the house, he could tell, a larger section of the lot. Perhaps for bulk produce? The scent of flour, dough hung in the air, a clean scent of linens and woodsmoke mixed in.  
It was a home, he realized. Most of the Asgardian homes looked like little molds made to fit into a melancholic ideal of what was. Yet here was this home, a literal cottage with a garden, so comically cliche in it’s midgardian aesthetic, and he could tell it’s own had made it their own. Truely, made it into something lasting. 

As he slinked under a window, he noted how this person even left a pie on a windowsill. How very… peasantry. He let it be, despite the soft apple smell from it and his nature to be well, who he was, and focused on the garden hiding behind the house.

Turning the corner, Loki felt like the wind had been sucked from his lungs. 

The vibrant green leaves bigger than his hands. The pale white beads of fruit that shimmered. Dark thin vines with tiny purple blooms.  
Asgardian.  
All the plants in this garden were Asgardian. Melons, gourds, berries, herbs, spices- each one unique and native to the home he’d lost. His mouth felt dry as he knelt, pulling off a bud from one of the darker vines.  
He felt tears prickle his eyelids. The taste was the same. Exactly how he remembered it. The soil hadn’t changed it. The soil- he dug his hand into the earth, feeling the coase grains, the softer clay mixed in like veins. He lifted it, smelling the life in the earth, the fertility present. He was trembling. How? How had they gotten these seeds? Had they smuggled them? Been smart enough to salvage them in their flight? Luck? Trade? They had a legacy, they had a living museum, a thriving archive of their people’s history. The walls- Looking over it was no wonder no one had found this treasure. The walls were higher here, and with the home so far from the others, unless you looked in and took the time to walk back it would pass notice entirely.

A click- and Loki spun, hiding himself under spells as he feared he could be caught. Yet the door opened just enough he saw a slender hand reach out to pluck a leaf from the beginnings of a musel scrub. The plant which, if let be, would grow thin roots by the handful. Roots used as flavorings. The leaves were of similar effect, but lacking in that numbing sensation and complex flavors. Cinnamon was a close flavor profile to the leaves. 

Loki couldn’t fight his curiosity.

He moved as only he could, slipping a finger into the door to stop it’s closing, yet not alerting the owner. He wanted to surprise them- after all, he knew what he wanted. To have this. The gem of a garden. To harvest it come time, to gather seeds, to bring what little of their legacy back.

As he slipped in, his head looked and he felt time stand still. 

The pale green stalks with flowing leaves, a single bud yet to bloom, tipped with the darkest blue you could see only in indigo. He knew that plant well. Knew it because every year he helped plant it himself. He tended and had cared for his own after Frigga’s death. The queen’s rose. Odin’s creation and gift to her on their wedding day. A symbol of devotion, unity, and marriage. Love. Blue as he eyes, it’s green leaves growing dark and edged in gold when in full bloom. This was a new seedling, just starting it’s first rapid growth. It- it shouldn't’t be there. Sitting so innocently in a pot, a clay doll of some creature next to it. Emotions warred in Loki at the sight of it.  
The royal queen’s rose was only permitted to grow in her garden, by the royal family. Only those who would have worked at the palace would have ever tended to it. So how? Who would have taken one? Taken seeds that were under threat of death to steal?

The sound of dough hitting wood drew him back to reality, and for a second time, Loki felt his sight steal the breath in his lungs.  
Her, the mute woman, the nameless human who was immortal. Her red hair pulled back and put into bun, a cloth keeping loose strands from her face. Her dress was modest- cotton. A muted beige with no details or work. The slip under while, laced at the edges- strap just slipping from her shoulder. He could see the muscles in her arms flexing, working as she kneaded the dough. Her hands dusted with white flour, patches of it freckled over the dark apron. She was smiling softly to herself, unaware she was watched, much less watched by her prince. 

She moved with a trained grace, back to front, fold and spin, back to front, fold and spin, over and over she moved like water, flowing and dancing with the dough that sprung back to her touch. Flecks of herb, of muselroot decorated the cream colored ball she rolled under her. She pulled back, and he noticed the strand of the herb hanging from her lip- a common thing, to nibble on, to clear your mind and senses while you worked. 

Loki couldn’t say what he felt in his chest as he watched her. Minutes. Time was pointless as he stood, transfixed by the sight before him. She rolled the dough with a simple wooden pin, cutting each cookie with a knife by hand. Ovals, all perfect in their symmetry. She had done it- he realized. She had made those sweet and donate them. It explained why none told him who. None after all, would wish to give accolades to the human. To ask questions of a mute woman who trembled at the very sight of others. 

His blood sang, demanding to be heard.

He chose his course of action, pie plucked from her windowsill in a last second pique of hunger from the aromas assulting him, riding him to indulge in the riches he’d found hidden away here. She didn’t notice as she put the cookies to back, only when she looked up to check did she see it missing. He watched, amused, elated, as she leaned out the window, seeking a fallen pastry. 

A click of metal to pan, he dug his fork in, biting, holding back the moan as the flavors were everything he remembered, everything he missed. The sound was enough, and when she spun, she faced the prince of Asgard, eating her pie in her kitchen. Green eyes alight with his divinity. Frozen, she was the one transfixed as he chewed and swallowed.

“So.” He began, noting how hip lips parted slightly in silent gasp.  
“How is it a maid like you ends up with a garden that shouldn’t exist?” He took another bite, seeing the spell break, her face falling to look at her feet, head shaking, panic settling in. She feared him, and well she should.  
“How does a woman who I know was not the head royal gardener end up with the queen’s rose?” Fear- there in her eyes, wild. Her body trembled as he stared her down, eating another bite of her pie, feeling something dark in him stirring.  
“The rose only to be grown for the royal family? Who’s seeds are so rare, only the most skilled would know how to harvest them?” Her eyes were begging for mercy and Loki set the pie down. 

“Why would you take the queen’s rose, of all the things to take, when you fled?” Yes, no that was the question. She’d been smart in taking seeds. Smarter than many her peers. Yet why the rose. So many other Asgardian plants were there in the gardens. So many others held more value. Goldwood. Silver birch. Red oak and azule firs. Their names telling to what they would yeild, the value they held. 

She scrambled, hands frantic as she stumbled, reaching and grasping at the notebook no bigger than her palm. The pen moving like he recalled. Elegant- even when faced with her fear, with terror.

The words on the page nearly made Loki want to call her a liar, because of all answered he didn’t want to think them true. Yet they were. He knew such.

‘I knew you and Thor would return.’ The page turned, she wrote anew.  
‘You’d come back and save us from Hela. ’ A new page.  
‘Burning it all away but I knew you’d come back. So I stole them. Seeds.’  
No, he thought, looking again at the woman he knew nothing of, a woman who Asgard had forgotten.

You didn’t steal them. (He would take her, instate her in their new palace, he’d give her anything she needed, have her lead a team, give her riches beyond measure for what she’s done. Her crime to die for what she’d done. Taking the seeds of a rose meant only for a queen. For his mother.)

She’d saved them.


	4. Loki makes a bargain

His mouth had run dry. A terrible thing, when one had a title to live up to that required the use of your tongue to make words honey sweet and your lies sound like eloquent truths. Loki licked at the roof of his mouth, trying to find a way to spin the tale for better… acceptance.   
Since his discovery of the oh so eloquently dubbed ‘secret garden’. He’d been bursting to tell Thor, to tell Valkryie, Heimdall, hell, anyone. Yet to do so? He recalled the look in the woman’s eyes so afraid, so pleading with him. She was a creature that bore her scars just under her skin, and the very thought of being subjected to query of her person would likely only harm her delicate state- the fact she’d hadn’t gone into a blind panic and fled at the sight of him was by his account, incredible enough. She was a wounded doe, fleeing at the first sign of a predator. Yet also like a doe, a fawn so new, she lay still, afixed and frightened, too scared to move lest the predator catch her scent and rend her apart. 

How cruel her step-father had been, to leave such wounds so deep, and unkind of Asgard to have to let them fester and bleed so long. 

He thought back to their encounter in her kitchen, the scent of her baking in the air, the taste of her pie still warm on his tongue. 

“Sit down.” He motioned to the chair opposite of him at the table taking his own seat. “I have no intentions to… penalize you, but I need to understand how these… events have come to be. You can understand that after all. My mother’s roses shouldn’t exist, much less in a pot in a kitchen.” The woman skittered her gaze between him and said roses before she took her notepad and pen with her, joining him at the table, eyes downcast, teeth worrying at her upper lip. A tick, he noticed. She bit her lips when nervous. He tongue would peek out, wetting them, before they’d be tucked in under her teeth, worried at until the blood welled up, swelling them slightly. A fool might look at think her freshly kissed, but Loki saw the torn skin, the thin tears where it had been pulled back. 

His moved his gaze from her face to her hands, noting how she held her pen. Loose, even when afraid, not spun, yet it was a solid grip. She had a control. Her pen, her pad of paper grounded her. They let her communicate with a world that she could not join.

“Your file gave us your story, your flight. That your step-father sided with Hela, and left you in out of most his plans until the shift in nobility. After all, Hela would find a use for a human, though likely an unkind one. It was for the best- and your step-father disclosed how he planned to bring you to the castle to serve correct?”  
Her head nodded, and Loki noticed how she kept her gaze from him. Smart girl.  
“You had served at the castle before- in the kicthens and gardens correct?” Another nod.  
“Was it then, that you stole the seeds-” The light sound of her mouth opening, the shift of paper moving before the ball on her pen rolled ink across parchment, her tale told in a dance of letters across a page.

‘When he took me to the palace, I was told I would be a gift to the house of Odin. Tribute to Hela. I am no fool- she loathed lesser races. I knew, had already heard of the rumored plans once she dealt with the rebellion in Asgard. A march on the nine and beyond- I would be another corpse. So when my step-father left me in the servant’s hall to wait’ Her pen stopped, and Loki stilled, her breathing pitched.   
‘I ran. I ran to the far garden, the one forbidden to us. I knew if I left I’d have nothing. I’d have to start fending, foraging for myself. But with no seeds, I’d be lucky to survive long. So I raided the supply room, grabbing satchels and seed bags. I knew there would be time. He wasn’t to fetch me till the mid-day tribunals. So, I filled an empty grain sack with what I needed. But I made sure to keep the seeds separated in their own smaller satchels. If worse came to worse I could lose the supplies- but the seeds would keep me alive. They’d have more value than gold if war came.’

That didn’t explain her theft of the roses.

‘As I went to leave I-’ she paused ‘I saw she had ripped them up. The royal gardens of the queen. I just- I remembered her majesty.’ Loki wanted to tell her to stop, that he’d not need hear or rather, read of his late mother. And by the shake of the woman’s pen, it was difficult for her as well. Another mystery.  
‘The late queen was the one who asked I work in the gardens. She took me from the kitchen staff. She didn’t mind my lack of words or blood- just that I could work the soil a bit better than others. So when I saw the roses, torn apart I turned back. I just couldn’t leave without doing something. More so I knew when you and his highness returned to us, you’d mourn the roses. I was so certain you’d save us- I wanted to save them. Make sure they survived. You and his highness King Thor have always been good to us. At least, not unkind.’

Loki didn’t correct her. Mostly, as he was certain he’d never been kind towards the staff a day in his life. He was the trickster prince after all. 

‘So I went back and I broke it. The seed box. It cut me but, I found the seeds, wrapped them, and I just started running.’ That was where Loki looked at her face again, hunched over, not meeting his face, though the papers were pushed towards him to read.

“Show me the cut.” Hwe wondered- had he not asked then, would she have told anyone? Breaking open locked chests, magically sealed ones no less, even rudimentary, often hurt their seal breakers, and she was no different. The cut was predominantly on her lower right arm, the line a blue-purple, a dusk horizon blemished into her skin signally broken veins underneath. The cut itself was not healing, and likely would not have if the minor curse had not been removed. He was glad in hindsight, he’d asked, and rather forcefully insisted to see it. Immortal she may be, but to suffer in pain for a righteous action he’d not be party to if he could help it.

“There we go.” He muttered, letting her arm free and healed, smiling just slightly as she gazed at the flawless skin that had mended itself. He couldn’t help it, the joy he found when his magic was marveled at, something to be amazed and sent to wonder. Yet looking at her, as she lifted her view to look at him tears beading he felt it- that knowledge. That terrible understanding.   
“Forgive me but-” He reached out of instinct, touching her hand as he spoke, a gesture, a tactic of talking, to seek and sooth and break down a wall between a speaker and listener.  
“-are you still being targeted?” the widen eyes, the awareness behind them. When she tried to pull away he held firm. 

“You are not at fault.” His words held power, firm resolution. That was a gift Frigga had told him, to weave the magic of your will into your words. Oration was a magic outside of magic, a force of it’s own. “I cannot claim to know what he did to you, but you should not be made to suffer. Not here. Not in my Asgard.” His Asgard. For that was what it was now. Thor and His. Their new Asgard. One built by them, free of Odin’s shadow. A spectre that haunted them. The woman slink into herself, a single snifle made before a weak willed smile graced her lips. 

Ink flowed, and he softened himself to her. He had to. She had done something incredible, something that was impossible.   
‘No, and yes. The people dislike me, which is fair. I remind them of the lost orchard, and of the fact that this world was mine before it was their own. I understand the resentment.’ Ah, Loki thought, but that was a lie. He knew Asgardians well enough. They were xenophobic at best. They’d just traded one excuse for another.  
‘They don’t come around anymore to harass me. That’s nice. Being outside the city has benefits.’ Yet her fingers hesitated. Words unspoken, unsaid.  
“Yet there are those that still come.”  
‘Children who know no better. They know only what their parents say. I am the creature. The Abomination of what happens when a mortal intermingles. It does not help I look as ugly as I do, but, such is the will of the fates’

Lies. Bitter, the coated the roof of his mouth thick like molasses. Yet she thought them truths.   
“Your appearance matters little to the crown. What matters is what you have done- no. Stop your fidgeting.” Her hands worried the threads of her apron. “You have grown Asgardian herbs and produce. Made them thrive in soil so unlike our own. More, you have saved a piece-” He thought to Frigga, smiling down upon her rose bushes. “-you have saved a piece of our history. That little doe, is a sign. Your skill and foresight have given all of Asgard a gift. I would like as such to give you… an offer.” He smirked at her blush, the way color bloomed on her face.

“If you will give me the rose- a wergeld.” Her breath was sucked in. Indebted to one another, his power over her would be null. It would reneg the one he’d taken from her. “And if I can speak and convince Thor- I’ll see about getting you a proper garden and greenhouse. These plants will need aid to fruit, and I anticipate cross breeding of their midgardian cousins would occur in a generation or two. I take if you have seeds remaining still?” Her reply was a shy nod, leaning back, her hesitance in giving up something so precious clear. Smart woman.   
“For now Ariel,” He crooned, liesmith tongue in full, noting her blush darken to his shift in tone. She was a woman who could read inflection, understand tone and body language and nuance better than others. One shoulder pulled back, her eyes on his forehead, not his face. Clever. Oh so very clever.  
“I will speak to Thor about getting you to a most respected position among our people. A heroine not at first glance.” He picked up the remains of her pie.   
“But a savior all the same.”

He spirited himself away, taking her pie with him. The rose left behind to collect later. Now he sat, late bite lingering on his tongue, Thor on his way to discuss Loki’s discover. The liesmith would have to sell it to get what he wanted, what they needed.

A royal gardener. A green savior. A wordless woman who’s lips stretched to a thin line when he spoke like prince seeking favors, and who’s eyes burned like wildfire as he assumed her acquiesce and stole her pie without asking.


	5. When Loki told the future

“Are you sure this is wise?” He couldn’t help but ask Thor the question once again. After the rather grand reveal of not only the salvation, (the miracle), that it was her garden, but the fact she’d saved the roses, (their mother’s roses), Thor wanted to announce her new position and her secret garden to Asgard. Loki had immediately reminded his brother of the fact that the woman was not a Asgardian by blood. That she was the target on harassment by not just the grown adults, but the children. That she was a woman trying to recover, more-  
“Thor, she is barely meeting criteria for being considered ‘adjusting’. For god’s sake your last monthly with her you even wrote she’d withdrawn and stop attending the weekly immersion sessions.”  
“All the more reason to announce her new role. She’d be exposed to everyone and to the methods of midgardian-” And that was when Loki, snapped.  
“So we put an abuse victim out into the view of her abusers? We expose her to those who openly would actively harm her? Thor you cannot be so blind as to not see her for what she is.” He motioned to the outside, to their people. “Do you really not see it Thor? I ruled Asgard mind you, guised as Odin and do you think I liked knowing, seeing them recoil and refute me, even in death?” His words had their effect, and so he twisted the knife deeper. “The reason, the only reason they have come to accept me is I died in battle Thor. I fought and died for Asgard not just once, but twice. I was a prince, I made my life’s story into a comedically dramatic play to make our people hate me a little bit less and you know what? It worked. It worked because our people know nothing of what other races truly are like. They can’t and won’t accept something unless it fits their mold and the woman you want to put above them does not.” He hissed, and saw the dark clouds on the horizon but did not care.  
Thor needed the truth for once, not a single lie or even an omission of the bare facts before them. “As your friends would say, our people are racist. Xenophobic. You call me a liar but for once I’m not the one lying to myself.” The clouds darkened further.

Loki was just glad the fist that slammed into the table didn’t break it. Thank god he’d learned to temper himself in such fashions over the years. They’d not be able to afford replacing furniture every few months.  
“Our people are not so-”  
“And if I walked the streets in my jotun skin do you think they would embrace me?” He shifted his own skin, his rage getting the best of him, but knowing a point had to be made. “Do you really think they’d not advert their eyes or turn away?” Thor blanched and Loki pulled himself back together sniffing back and feeling exposed, raw. He loathed dropping his ‘illusion’. Of looking like he was ‘supposed to’. More and more, he’d been exploring it- seeing about the possibility of going to Jotunheim to make reparations, to take his actual birthright. But still, looking in a mirror irked him, made him uncomfortable.  
“Can you really say our people are as welcoming and adapting as well as they should?”

It was a silent contemplative moment before Thor spoke.  
“It’s not about her is it?” Ah yes. And No. Loki’s need for validation he knew lingered, but for the most part, he’d come to terms with it. Better it could be yes but- he’d accepted that it would take time. He was just impatient. “It was never just about her.”  
Loki sighed. “She is the weakest of us Thor. Asgardians are not assimilating as much as we’d hoped- and she is the easiest metric by which we can measure. Until they accept her, we cannot hope for any real immersion. She is and was, a victim of our people, our father’s own loathing of other races, and it speaks volumes that she is still harassed by children who are taught it is acceptable. I know changing our people’s minds will take time but-”  
“Time is not on our side.” Most, nay, almost all of earth had no recollection of the Snap, Thanos- He shuddered, hating how the memory of his own death came at the titan’s hand. But, in the end, they’d all proven victorious. Barely. Just barely.

“No it is not.” Loki rubbed his hands together, not caring that Thor saw his nervous tick.  
“It’d been five years since it started, barely a year since it ended. I mean Thor- You finally lost that… fat.” He liked the shamed blush that bloomed across Thor’s face at the reminder. “But it is still a blink of an eye. Things are moving fast, too fast for so many. Up until last year, when you and other others… managed to restore what was lost the other half of us arrived to a barely held together people. Since then? Renovations. Advancements. Our people tout their heritage now when humans come by, and scoff when they leave. They had a choice of better lands, better resources, but how many chose to get homes more resembling Asgard as she was known? Look my in the eyes and tell me I am wrong. Tell me our people are not locked in the past.” Thor did not meet his gaze, yet the storm clouds drifted in the distance.

“And what should we do then?” He was defeated, and slumped in his chair like he was a drunk all over again.  
“Do you want my opinion as your brother, or as a son of Odin?” A diplomat, a tactician, an manipulator who schemed and used peoples weaknesses against them.  
“As a son of Odin.” Thor was trying to be a king- and he was learning quick it’s cost.  
“Let her choose how. Then, ease her role slowly. Have a liason carry her designs and plans to the hired hands. Let her work in them, get the people more accustomed to her precence. And later, when they are more used to her, instate her formally.”  
“Give her a choice… but not? Loki that-”  
“The choice if she is announced now or later. She cannot, and will not refute the offer. To live near the palace, on high wages, with the benefit of overseeing something she clearly loves. It also would keep her in Heimdall’s sight.”  
“Detering any would be aggressors.”  
“That and we have security footage.”  
“That too.” Thor smirked and nodded his head, hair bobbing. 

Four days later she was looking at her new home with open trepidation. With raw fear-and Loki felt his heart sink like a stone in the sea.  
She went back to her cottage that evening.

Two weeks since her attempted move, and Loki sensed things were not going well for their resident midgardian. She was doing her best to get the royal gardens suitable, but working through a liaison was strenuous. Not to mention it made Loki feel anger on her behalf. The man took credit for her plans, and had the nerve to imply he was responsible for the seeds they’d managed to salvage. Stark was cloning them, and Wakanda had some researchers come to look over plans on green houses and biolabs. But for now, the focus was on more natural means. The soil was being worked, adjusted accordingly. It was the basis she wrote him.  
‘If the soil is not to the plant’s liking, it will refuse to root.’

He’d looked to her, chuckling. “Refuse to root. You say that like they speak to you.”  
Mayhaps they did. She was younger than him, body altered by magic now lost.  
‘No, it is just experience.’ It tasted like a lie, but not entirely. He let it slide. She had a magic in her, and she knew it was there, lingering, but how it worked through her was hard to say. 

As he looked down then, at her working mulch and moss into an area near paving stones he saw how she kept her distance, and when approached, kept her head down, eyes averted. He watched Asgardians look and speak down at her, waving off whatever she wrote and dismissed her. He felt angry on her behalf- but she looked up and saw him in the window and smiled. Smiled, and he felt nothing but confusion. She smiled so warmly, so genuine, and it did not taste like a lie, how she smiled to him before returning to her work, a renewed vigor in her movements.

He thought nothing of it. After all why should he? She was one of many he had to watch over now, one of his people. 

Three months.  
The green had come, encouraged by the vibranium systems. Another month to harvest. But the roses? The roses had thrived and it was no secret why. None took when planted by any of their gardeners. Not even the wakanda team could coax them to grow. But her- she took a spot in the soil by the stone walls, and tended to it alone. A single sprout, she tended to it dutifully. She smiled when she watered it, checking it’s soil, he had even heard a rumor she’d kissed it’s first leaf. But it had been her, (or course it had been), to get the first rose to grow, to get the first bud to begin forming. 

The secret had come out naturally after that. She’d been the one to save the seeds. To have a secret garden. To know just how to make the Queen’s rose bloom. They marveled at her-  
And hated her.

Many of the others now openly chastised her or made remarks of her poor clothes, her rough hands and ‘ugly’ features. Her shyness, her inability to speak, her script, her speed- any flaw real or imagined was amplified, yet she bore her work with a smile, though Loki would see her working, see the red pouring from the wounds they left behind. He saw how she kept her head down, shoulders bent and small, slipping away at meals and at the day’s end.

Meddling, Heimdall said. He was meddling because he disliked seeing his younger self in her. The target of teasing and cruelty and perhaps the watchman was right. Still, he did nothing. He couldn’t, only sing her praises and accolades that day where they announced her role in the fall of Asgard. Say the name they’d given her and see her flinch. She her hands wring together in nervousness as his people looked at her, shocked and many disgusted. Some watching away, turning their backs to the human woman who had saved them. She had given them a piece of themselves back and they scorned her. Not even Thor missed it, and his own face was marred that night as the brothers sat in uncomfortable silence. Loki had been right.  
But he’d been so very very wrong.

That night, across the city, the woman wept, tears soaking into salt soaked soil as the burned remains of her garden were left to turn to ash around her.  
And every Asgardian green she had managed to grow ripped up and away, the heritage she so desperately sought once more denied to her.


	6. In where Loki can't get rid of an itch

Loki knew he didn’t have a good outlet for his frustrations. Sparring with Thor or Valkyrie- occasionally even Korg or Meik, did nothing to curb his ever present itch. He was a god of Mischief. Not a god of idle waiting. Yet wait he did, for a supposed approval to leave New Asgard without armed escort. Thus far, every public outing he’d been in direct company of Thor and at least one or two of the Avengers. The United Nations often chafted when they were given anything written by him, only for the entirety of New Asgard’s populace and elected officials backing it and signing off on is unanimously.   
Unlike midgardians, Asgardians understood that you had rank and file. That Loki, Silver tongue was not a moniker, it was a true title and a gift of his godhood. He was a liar god yes, but his words were poetry that rivaled Bragi’s, and he was cunning as Odin if not more. Even so, it was widely accepted even before his fall from the Bifrost he’d likely work as Thor direct diplomat and advisor- a role he was well suited for, and one the thunderer praised for more than just brotherly fondness.

The UN chafted, knowing the missives and delegations were being handled by a man who threatened their power years ago- and now did so through legals means, often outwitting and wording them. He’d even appeared before them on several occasions, Thor to speak his words, them sharing looks which conveyed meanings, and then speaking in unison and agreement. A well oiled machine as Stark called it. They worked in tandem well, after so many years.   
Yet more and more his frustrations grew. 

He wanted freedom. He bit at the chains holding him- snapped up every opportunity to step outside the city. He adored the times when he went to Galas, to events, Invited by Thor. He relished seducing men and women alike, sometimes slipping his number and hotel room number into the hands, or, just pulling them into a dark corner and ravishing them like the dark god he was.   
Yet even pleasure was not the outlet he needed, craved. No, it starched one itch but not the itch. The intch that was more than a yearning for freedom- for violence, for his ability to be who he was-

The scent of lilacs hit him- and he tensed before slouching. The breeze carried them, and he looked to the fresh blooms. Magically enchanted to remain in season all year. The garden shielded by a clear greenhouse infused with vibranium. Protection, purpose- he’d woven magic into it. A fusion of Asgardian and Midgardian knowledge-(The scent of baked bread, of a light sweat, and hand washed linens)- and a single resolute soul of a woman who was both and neither. 

It was three months to the day she’d come to live on the palace grounds. That morning, her eyes so downcast, it was clear when she stood in front of Thor and himself, someone had harmed her. Deeply hurt her. Her explanation was slow, her normal flowing script dragged and measured more carefully, as if she feared her own pen might lash back at her.  
‘Someone came to the cottage and destroyed it.’ Thor of course, demanded to know how. Asgard was supposed to have guards. The fire alone would have been noticed. The activity had to have been more than one person.

Yet no matter his threats, his bluster, no one came forward with leads or tips. None of the guards claimed to have gotten word. Her neighbors said it must have been her fault, so they let it burn. Her little cottage had burned too- and she’d lost the rose.  
She wept when she told them, hands shaking, trembling in her entire frame as fingers scrambled over the page. Sorry, so many times written. As she frantically wrote that word over and over, Loki saw the panic there, the terror. How cruel had her life been? How tormented to think she would suffer for being a victim? Worse-

Thor had wanted to comfort her, but when she touched her shoulder she bowed, head hitting stone, shaking, waiting, Loki realized with dawning horror as her hands interlaced above her head- waiting to be lashed. Cruelty had been carved into her. Shaped her so deeply. If he took away her clothes, how much of her skin would be covered in scars he wondered. How many of those freckles hid a wound?   
Her terror was met with equal shame in her as she begged forgiveness for being so careless- that she’d let the rose get burned, the garden torn asunder. Begged to be forgiven- not asking for housing, for justice, for anything at all but forgiveness. Some things had survived she said. A few things. She was fine, she would manage. She did that night, would today too she’d said.

Thor insisted she stay, but she refused. She imposed. She’d been careless, just forgive her, please, forgive her.

Loki was the one who pardoned her. The one who said she was forgiven- not because it was her fault, but because she was not to be blamed. 

In the end Heimdall easily identified who’d gone and ripped up her garden. Which child had started the fire, as adults passed by and looked on. Over 30 Asgardians he named, various measures at fault for the woman’s loss of safety, of her home.  
But they their own laws, Thor and he could only hold the firestarting child to be reprimand by his parents, and the parents made to pay coin for the loss. The crop thieves made to do the same- tithe for each year her harvest would have yielded had they not salted her land, rendering it poison to all but a few scant things. 

That night, she’d gone back- they thought not of it.Not until the next morning, when she arrived to her work, the ire of the Asgardians open and calling for her blood. Scorned, shunned, they gave little torments. Stealing her tools, digging up her work, sending her on pointless errands. Loki watched it happen and seethed.He seethed because when he went to see the extent of damage he saw- She had slept on straw, huddled in what remained of her room, window broken, door ajar, piss and shit coating one of the walls- written to reminder her.

‘Abomination’

Yet she’d born the torment in silence. Heimdall’s suggestion to look for himself had been cryptic but he knew why. Words did not do justice. When asked, the watcher frowned. 

“1You punish them, they shall only punish her. You know this as well as I. You see it as I do Loki.” Gold eyes knew- “I can give you their names, but unless you get involved, risking her being seen as your chosen, as you and Thor’s favored, a crime to her isn’t seen as a crime.”

No, his people saw her as less than an animal.

So he’d stopped her that night, told her what he saw, and ordered her to stay, even despite her protests.  
“You stay, or I will make you stay.” She been shaking, his hand on her wrist before he held it in his own. “You do not have to suffer anymore.” He gave orders- she was to be given a room. Clothes. Meals. Until they found new housing.

The room she got didn’t come for a full day- she’d slept on the stairs. He’d scolded their hired chamberlain.  
She’d missed meals the first week- no one had invited her to sup with them and other staff so she’d go to the kitchens when no one was about and sneak food. He’d had words again with the chamberlain and head chef.   
New clothes never happened. No tailor was sent for, no offer to buy things. He’d had to give her cash directly and ordered her to buy herself clothes, (to which she bought only work clothes. He’d sighed, snuck into her rooms to note her sizing and ordered her some basic and decent casual and intimate wear.)

Which honestly, was what made him fire the chamberlain entirely. It was one thing to be cruel and spiteful, another to disobey direct commands from your Prince and employer. 

And- 

He leaned back, looking over to where she worked out of the corner of his eye. She tended to the roses and other flowers today. Her homely smell likely from her slipping in and baking that morning as she’d begun doing every other day. The warm greenhouse helping her scent- the sweet flowers and her natural sweat- he liked it. It reminded him of simpler things. Softer things.

His cock twitched as the memory came back.  
In retrospect it was telling. Buying her golden lace panties and bras, pearls sew into one set was a lavish, opulent thing. Gold was his color. The forest green combo had been a tell of his favored color. His godhood. Mischief. 

Perhaps her own- innocence. 

How she looked at him when he went into his rooms and saw her there, shy and demure, holding her coat so taught and tight over her he could smell her fear. 

How she looked away as she let go- and he got his answer.

Flawless, unblemished skin. Marked only by life and growth. Tiny scars that spoke of toil not torture. A smattered patch of freckles here and there- curled red hair that peaked from behind the gold thong, green bow a tantalizing promise if he were to pull it. Her breast between her arms as she hugged herself to try and stave off her shaking.   
Their soft give to pressure, the lift and roundness teasing him with dark imagines of how they might move with body, whilst he- 

He’d spoken softly to her that night. Asked if this too, had been forced from her, taken from her. Yet he felt lighter when she said no- and no lies spilled from her soft scratches of pen on paper. But she wasn’t a fool. What other purpose would he buy such things, give her such kindness if not but to have this? To have her as he liked. She owed him. She could never afford such elegance, such nice things. Much less deserve them.

How many times that night did he rub his thumb over her hand, soothing her with his voice, trying to explain to her how he was her prince, and she was one of his people. Not lesser- and not an object. Twas a bit of his mischief, nothing more. He did not want her so- and if she did, he’d not be so crass.

He got her to smile.  
He got her to laugh, soundless as it was.

Drawn back to the present her looked at her again, her head turned she caught his gaze and smiled warmly at him, fondly.

After that night, she was lighter. Softer and less shy living and working at that renewed Palace. She was still tormented, but the light that hardly flickered after she’d lost her garden slowly came back. Most of the staff soon came to terms with it. She was staff like them, staple now. The princes saw merit to her work, and so it would not be well to harm or antagonize her directly.   
Though they still did just by less overt means.

Never did Loki see her eat with company. Never did she go on outings with the other women, though she had tried. Heimdall said he was growing attached and Loki had admitted he was. She was a mystery to him still. Curious. Yet she was slowly finding her place, as unkind as it might be. 

She gave him a small bow of her head, her smile reaching her eyes before she want back to working on the rose. Looking at it, Loki noticed how one of the blooms darkened in color just a bit.  
She was a strange one, a mysterious one.

And as he looked at her, thinking to the way she’d laughed that night, her open smile, so warm, carefree, even after having embarrassed herself arriving at a prince’s chambers, thinking she was to service him- Loki recalled how when she smiled, the itch to cause a bit of chaos was lessened by just a little bit more.


	7. In where Loki helps plan a party

“Thor! Loki! Nephews!” Freya’s voice was high pitched as he recalled, her blond tresses pinned up in an updo that would rival even the most lavish of past midgardian monarchs. He’d been dreading her arrival for weeks since he got word from her and their uncle Frey- Thor was recognized as a distant heir to the Vanaheim throne, and was Loki by proxy. Bother Kings in their own rights, and both having been loyal to Vanaheim and her safety, her king and queen would replay the then princes kindness with supplies and insight. Vanaheim native plants would be imported in, (overseen by their resident miracle worker), And both Thor and Loki would find much of the credits Odin had put under their names instated in the event either of them had need to procure items from beyond Yggdrasill. 

All Freya and Frey had wanted was to see New Asgard-  
“It will be so nice to have you both among the masked this time! I wonder who will be lucky enough to seduce you.” And host their couples festival. A rather… carnal event where Freya enchanted masks to hide one’s identity from all others, making them alike in all but the appearance their mask took on. As the goddess of fertility and Love, Freya also had a knack for making couple matches…. Accurate. It was well known that if you participated and found someone, they were a match for you- a perfect one in fact. Half magic, half intuition, Freya’s goodhood was terrifying for a variety of reasons-   
“Maybe I’ll sneak my own mask on as well.”

Including the fact she was married to her own ‘perfect match’- her brother. Loki tried to ignore that fact about his extended family, and how over the years Freya had leered at Thor and him both. Just part why he never objected to Odin telling her that Thor and himself were precluded from her balls, being royals and ‘above such.’ It was more than disturbing to know your aunt wanted to sleep with you, and was not above using her magic to do it.   
This time however-

“It is good to see you Auntie. As for the ball- You know what we agreed on.” Thor was playing nice. Loki would have just coiled and bitten.   
“Yes yes. This is for you two- for finding a possible true match.” A gesture more than anything. He and Thor, new kings with no queens. Midgard had taken a shine to that aspect of their lives, and the ball was in part to ‘humanize them’. Something Stark had mentioned about reality TV and PR. The chance Thor and himself falling under Freya’s magic now was nigh impossible. Between Loki’s mastery of magic, and Thor’s Thorforce, Freya’s magic would not guide them to a match- only hide who they were. Freya disliked it- it burned her after all, to be rejected thinking herself the most beautiful being in all the nine, but Thor’s heart still yearned for his Jane. And Loki- Loki smiled tense as Freya grinned, following Thor to the main hall.

Loki knew even without his magic to defend himself, her spell would fail him. After all,  
her magic would only have affected true Asgardians.

A week passed quickly. Looking back, he’d had to admit, he never expected the garden to flourish as it had. Their resident midgardian miracle worker had a talent almost magical to coax blooms to their brightest. Most impressive where the roses. Between her, and the various supplements, it had rooted further, now scaling the entire side of the palace wall- unheard of.   
“She would have been proud you know.” He told her. “Frigga. She would have delighted to see them thriving so.” To see you thriving. His mother no doubt had seen this silent woman at her worst, living under her abuser directly. She would have wanted to see the woman too thriving. 

Her smile, so wide and bright, so genuine and her eyes wet with emotion as she nodded- Loki felt if anything Frigga would be glad to see her son finishing what she had started long before- giving the woman a job she loved. 

It was odd. His relationship to the mortal. She was one who enjoyed his presence in the gardens, and worked around him as if he was not the dark prince, the one who was prone to fits of fury and anger. She just smiled kindly at him, occasionally motioning him to another location out of the sun or so she might finish her work. It was amusing, how she seemed to just not care nor mind his royal status as she worked, treating him like he was a visitor there, and more a hindrance than her employer. He liked that about her. Her impunity with him.

Usually, he’d go down, gather some herbs, just for her to get up, look at what he’d gathered, make some kind of judgement, and then proceed to find better herbs- and she always did. Without fail. Other times, he’d tease the gardeners entirely, turning the hose into a snake, or spade into a skunk. Yet she bore his trickery with huff and a smile. Reaching down through his illusions to break them apart and return to work. He also had been a bit playful with her, reversing what side she’d place items just to have her turn and glare at him, but her eyes lacking in heat.

Fond. He’d grown to reconcile with. He was fond of her, their little resident mortal. 

Like a pet.

It was fairly known sadly of his fondness for her- and he knew she bore whispers of her relationship with him. Malicious words of whore and slut. Hedge witch and sorcerer. He was entertaining himself with her only because her hedge magic. Claimless, baseless rumors. He’d tested her himself a dozen times.  
Not a drop of sedir in her veins, she was as midgardian as they came. Mundane as they were. 

Just why when she arrived to take a mask for Freya’s ball, he wanted to gently take it back- it would do her no good just as him.They might be asgardian- but they would also never truly be a child of Asgard. 

At the end of the month, the ball was drawing closer, and Loki wanted to strangle Freya each hour he spent with her. She toted her magic like infernal Dr. Strange. Needlessly. One day he noted, he caught her staring out into the gardens, eyes locked on the mortal woman. He didn’t comment, yet she spoke anyway.  
“It is tragic you know.” He didn’t. “To be gifted as we are- Gods. To see and know what others do not. My sister bore it well, with her foresight- but when I see someone suffer so- my heart breaks for them, knowing I cannot help.”   
“Auntie-” The title made her smile sadly and look to him.  
“That woman- she is your mortal Asgardian no?” Loki didn’t like how Freya had noticed her.  
“She is, why?”  
“Her heart- she loves so much, so deeply- yet her heart is so… broken. There is a despondency around her love. If she loved freely as she could, I’ve no doubt she would thrive and give so much. Yet that is not her case is it?” Loki said nothing, and Freya nodded, knowingly.  
“Her heart is lost in a great chasm of sorrow. To love do deeply, so richly, only to have her love never known.. Tis not a fate I would wish upon even my worst of foes Loki.” His aunt looked to him.

“I see her and- I fear the loss of her would only make Asgard poorer.” Looking out at her, smiling at the roses, her fingers brown with dirt, apron stained with use and mud at the soles of her boots, sweat along her brow. He tried to think of how Asgard might be without her.

For some reason, the empty feeling in his stomach bloomed that day, and made a note to never give reason for asgard to lose it’s lone mortal.  
To lose the one who’d saved their legacy from ragnarok.


	8. In where Loki becomes a Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rather short chapter, but this is a section of narrative that moves quickly for our story.

He felt out of place. The mask on his face was that of a black wolf- Iconic of the myth, not so kind to his persona. 

Freya had outdone herself in many ways with the ball garlands of glittering ivy hung from the ceiling, majestic fruits and meats imported from Vanaheim, musicians playing traditional asgardian dances and everyone he could tell was making merry. Somewhere among the throng of people he knew Thor and his compatriots of the avenging sort were among the revelers, but he chose not to seek them out, to lift up the glamor and break part of Freya’s spellwork.

Dozens of women and men had come, all with one single intention. To get close to him and Thor, and perhaps be their fated lover. Loki however knew such was impossible. Thor was fated to Sif and Jane both- which one he would have the fortune of earning their love was unclear- but he was a skilled enough sorcerer raised by a seerer to be able to catch a glimpse of the fated red thread on occasion.   
His own- his own was harder to see however. He actually never had seen his fate string; He’d never been able to see anything past a few obvious tellings. His death and rebirth in another timeline was one. As was his change from a God of Mischief to a God of Stories. But those were other universes, other realities. He didn’t dwell on it.

In any event, the mortals and few vanir nobility that had come were hardly Loki’s taste. For one thing, nearly every single ‘eligible’ person was already mired in politics. He and Thor had both narrowly escaped political marriages if only because Odin had other problems than getting his wayward son and his errant son married off, (for one thing, had Odin gone against Jane and Thor’s connection even Loki was certain he’d have sent Thor further from his crown). Loki had no illusions that as far as realm politics went, he was considered one of the most desirable men around. King of a realm, heir-prince of the realm who’s people still held considerable power even after being made into refugees, and lesser prince of another realm. In the past such might have delighted him, but now, it filled him with a sense of dread and bitterness.

Jotunheim barely wanted him around understandably. He’d discovered his half-brothers and left it to them to be regents in his absence. The thing was, by their laws, if one of said half siblings killed him they got to be the next king- so he was careful to keep them at arm’s length and allowed them to think he was not so invested in the realm. Short term, it was being rebuilt, recovering- long term he planned to kill the two idiots who were itching to start a war and conquer lesser realms, and take control entirely.  
But that was probably in 500 so years. Plenty of time for plans to change. 

Plenty of time to focus on more immediate things, like the fact he was as bitter as he was to admit it, lonely, and with the mask hiding his identity, finding companionship would not be difficult. The issue was more finding such that was not tired to some political scheme that would see him painted in an ill light after the inevitable one night stand. 

So, he stood at the edge of the crowd, distant from Thor, (as they’d agreed to not draw attention), and close enough to the alcohol he could imbibe as he wanted. It was the only thing geting him through the night really.

The music didn’t trouble him, but the loudness of people did- the vices carried and downed out all so much so-  
It was accidental.  
She was looking down, he wasn’t looking at all.   
But the wine splashed harmlessly on the floor, and her gasp hand him looking to her.

She was lovely.

Her red hair curled around her face, eyes were bright and wide, the khol making them stand out against the soft eggshell white of her mask. A rabbit. A being to represent innocence, or in some ways, prey; something that was fragile and needed protecting. Yet- rabbits were quick natured. Smart. They were sometimes symbols of tricksters and mischief.   
He felt a smile tug at the corners of him mouth at that thought.

“My apologies dear lady.” He wondered why he could see past her mask, see past her. She shook her head, mouth opening to say something but.  
“No.” His finger pressed to her lips and she stopped her movement. “I’ll not hear a word of protest. It was an accident on my part- well, that and I assume you still can’t speak.” She blushed- a light pink against the white mask. He looked her up and down- the dress she wore was a simple thing, yet he stood by his original assessment. She looked lovely. 

“Don’t act surprised pet. Freya’s magic doesn’t work on me- or yourself.” Her blush darkened and she cast her gaze away, and the motion made him frown. He couldn’t place why however.  
“Not that it matters to me anyway. I’d prefer to find my fated on my own, and I doubt they’d be among a bunch of sellouts and gold diggers.” Her wide eyes told him of her shock to his words. “I mean, can you really see me with a supermodel on my arm? Oh they might be educated, but a thin thing? No. And all those ladies, daughters of old money and old blood? Pah, I’d sooner marry Stark, we even you know how insufferable he is.” He saw it, the hint of a smile on her face as she refused to nod, but found his words amusing nonetheless. 

“So.” He held out his arm- he would rather spend his company with her than most others. She was at the least, quiet. “Care to join me? I was thinking to run off early.” She held up her hands shook her head- yet Loki hooked his arm in her own pulling her after him. “I think we could both use some peace and quiet.”

And, they found it. Seated in the gardens, the scent of the roses behind them and the party a dull muffled sound behind stone walls.   
“Much better.” He looked at her and smirked at her nervous figiting.  
“Do not.” Her hands were so much smaller than his own. Warmer too. The rough calluses felt good against his own fingers, and he absentmindedly rubbed her knuckles with his thumb as he held her hands in his own.  
“I took you with me because I know it is distressing- and-” He sighed. “I suspect you already knew your fate when it came to a suitor.” Her sadness was deep in her eyes, and Loki hated it. Hated the fact he could understand that sorrow all too well.

“Asgardians but not- such is our fate and ilk.” Her hands grasped his own, her head shook, red curls bouncing as her face softened, expression so full of something-  
“Don’t try and say I am. I am Loki, King of Jotunheim, adopted prince-” His bitterness laced his words.

Yet she stole them.  
They died in his throat as he pulled his hands to her lips, kissing them softly. Words spoken soundlessly, lips moving to say what was shining in her eyes as she looked at him

Her prince. He was Loki Odinson, and he was her prince.

In the faint light of a party where no one noticed two missing souls, Loki looked at the human woman who had no voice and yet had said the thing he had longed to hear from one of those who’d he’d saved in the flight from Asgard. That he was their prince. That he belonged.

She knelt on grass, her white dress a halo and her mask showing him more than she knew. She bowed to him, kneeling in reverence and respect. Her hands were so much smaller than his own, so much softer even with her toils, they were so much more fragile, made for things more delicate than the work she was tasked with. .  
Yet as she kissed his hands, and she said his name in silent reverence, Loki made a decision. 

For her, he would be Asgardian. For her?  
He would be her prince.


	9. In where Loki begins to work harder

When he’d been asked, (and he had been, several times,) of what had happened that night, Loki’s answer remained the same.  
“I found someone worth talking to, that was all.”   
Freya has smiled softly, knowing full well her magic had failed him. Knowing that it had done nothing other than allow him to pass as a normal person for a night. But, in his way, he was rather glad for it. No one had seen him with her, more, no one had seen them as they were. Only a wolf and a hare, conversing. For a while he had wondered- how had she known who he was, how had she seen past Freya’s magic. But then it hit him- Freya’s magic didn’t touch her, so it would be logical that she could see past it. That night had been emotionally more taxing than he’d thought it would be.  
Aside from her telling him those simple words he longed to hear, (even if she lacked a voice, he could feel it- feel them in the marrow of his bones- the truth in her eyes and her touch). She had held his hands in her own, soothed his worry and fears from him as he’d done with her night so long past. She had smiled for him, knowing, kind, understanding. She had pulled back the mask and seen the man under it. Really, Asgard did not deserve her.  
He not deserve her. Yet still, he coveted her presence. 

Spring had come again- time had passed, and things had settled. He felt a little less caged in as of late. After Freya’s ball, he’d been seen as a reclusive man and less a potential killer by media. Slowly, (ever so painfully slowly even my mortal standards), He was being pushed to the light, to media and granted time from Asgard. He gained followers, fans, he was gaining them still. Interviews, outings, public appearances. Humanitarian event- he attended them gracefully, biting back his smiles and knowing so long as he played nice, he might one day roam unfettered. 

Strange sometimes, he found it, that his main source of comfort was in the gardens, by the roses she tended to so dutifully.   
To the comfort of her silent company when she’d work in the garden, only looking up to smile, bow her head, and acknowledge him. Funny, how that worked. He never sought her out, yet he found her always when he needed her most. When his ire rose, there she would be, smiling, not a flicker of worry in her face. She reminded him, as odd as it was, that there were things worth staying in Asgard for. That he did belong, and that he was desired for more than his acumen and his abilities. He was their prince after all.  
Her prince.

The fact she thought of him as such, without an ounce of mockery or hesitation gathered a bit of warmth in his chest. The roses, the queen’s roses, had grown further, covering the far wall and climbing around. Smaller, more neatly trimmed bushes of them lined a few paths, and he’d gotten the plans for expanding the gardens- right now there was the flower viewing pavilion and small gazebo, but what of a pond with a natural filtration system that would smoothy transition to a entertaining lawn? He also noted how on the proposed pond there was a rather small tucked away corner that simply was labeled, ‘Scholar’s grotto’. His lips tugged to a smirk. She knew him well, (though it was hardly a shocker, given how often he read in the gardens, enjoying the scent of flowers and birdsong). The proposed garden would require a fair bit of landscaping, and mean that the proposed stables would need to be further out- But the plan also had a solution for that as well. She was clever, their midgardian. 

The only sour note was how Thor teased him about her. How his fondness was mistaken as friendship, (could she be such, he hardly knew her. Just about her). That his kindness and understanding were efforts to seek her favor, (he only wished to help her heal, to see the wounds on her soul heal, as his were only starting too). Yet Thor’s teasing reached it’s apex when he jested that he lusted for her.   
“Come now Loki! You’re a prince, she’s the mute- give her a kiss to break the spell!” He snarled. He would never take advantage of her in such a way, never use his rank to coerce or mislead a woman to his bed. More-  
“She is a midgardian Thor. I would be a fool to want her.” But- no. His words were true. Yet he knew she no doubt heard them. Rumors, gossip- it all traveled fast. And the next day he saw the flicker of pain in her eyes. The tighter pull in her smile. She might not want him in such a way too, but to no doubt hear she was not desired was still unkind all the same.

And unkindness followed her like a plague. Still, months, nearly a year past since she’d joined Asgard proper, and few gave her the respect she merited. Few spoke kindly or even cordially to her. At best, most shunned her. At worst?  
Abomination was still her title, her name. Ariel might as well have been the name of a stranger had one walked in on the workers of the palace.

So why did the news of her speaking with a soldier make unease rise in him?

It was innocuous at first. The man’s appearance in line with the other guards. Marching, rotating out their shifts at the palace gates which were just always from the garden. He saw it slowly unfold. His slowing of pace, how his eyes lingered on her while she worked. How soon enough she started looking up, their eyes catching, then looking away, a moment stolen and secret between them, (yet Loki was fond of such secrets). Then the soldier would stop to chat. Or rather, greet her and the others, but lingering on her name, her face. Soon enough, he lingered, speaking to her, watching her hands move across paper with pen, her elegant script for his eyes.

Loki felt happy that finally, it seemed that she had found companionship. Perhaps a romantic interest. Yet at the same time, it made him melancholy. It made him worry and want- to snarl at the solider, to guard her, protect her from further harm and slights as she barely had begun to heal the hundreds of years of scars etched into her very soul. He wanted to see her smile, her laugh soundless as it was- she deserved that much.   
She was too good for Asgard.  
Too good for him.

Just why Loki began to take his meals and work in his office as summer came, and worked to make himself a worthy prince and would be king. But the summer's end, he had some of what he wanted. New trade with Vanaheim, recouping losses, establishing formal treaties and getting Thor and Himself on the UN, a self sustaining City Nation. A recruitment send out for scholars and doctors- to make Asgard a beacon second to none, (save perhaps Wakanda). To make it the realm of Gods on Earth. Loki set to make himself the one to seek if you wished to rise, to be seen as the reformed prince, the one who would fight for, serve, and protect his people.  
He worked to make himself feel worthy to be called her prince.


	10. In where Loki kindles his rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: men plotting rape/discussing rape. It doesn't happen, but if you want to skip to the end after the description of the party's end there will be a summary. The * indicates when this is.

Autumn. The harvest taken in, the feast was due that night. Asgard established. It was a celebration. A grand festival for the equinox and for the proclamation. Thor was King, and he was King of a Nation. Fully represented at the UN, and the EU. They were going to have guests from all over the world. Their little nation was already producing results. Their magic, their arts and crafts in studies proved them a source of knowledge and a wealth of advancement. Not to mention they also were working on the first Sedir Academy- a hall for the study of Magic. Many still questioned, but Loki and a few other living practitioners were proof that magic was real- and like any art and science, it was a thing to study and perfect. 

He was mostly excited because it helped give him reason to stay, even when his chaotic nature screamed at him to run, to wander and to venture.   
Plus being called ‘Master Loki’ just did things for him. He liked being the Master of the soon to be academy. 

“Well,” Thor asked, his good eye sparkling with uncertainty, his false one hiding his emotions, “Think she’ll like it?” She being Jane Foster. The oaf was once more courting her best he could, and insisted they invite her if anything to look at their new science center. Thor of course was a blumbering fool- he hadn’t a clue that Foster already had seen it- Loki knew because he’d asked her help to design the observatory after all.  
“You’re dressed in a red suit Thor.” He didn’t catch on. “You look like their mythical ‘Santa Claus’.” It took a good second before Thor realized it and he cursed at Loki’s blunt assessment.  
“Red used to be my color- now it’s-”  
“Overdone? Overstated? Overrated?” Loki supplied, enjoying needling his brother.  
“Too much is what I was going to say.” Thor huffed back, knowing he was being teased yet not liking it. “What would you suggest then?” Loki didn’t bother with words, a simple spell fixing the problem.  
“Loki-”  
“What? White is a formal color, and I did include some red.” He had. The suit had changed to one more Loki’s taste yes. But a white suit, (fitted of course) with gold fillagree work along the collar and cuffs- not to mention the golden tree embroidered on the back, with red crystals sewn in to look like apples.  
“I look like a showman gangster.”  
“You look like I took you to an actual fashion designer for once.” His own suit was black, trademark. Shimmering black thread detailed his vest- the wolf, the world snake, and the skull. Figures of the midgardian myth of his aid to Ragnarok. Over the vest was a short cloak, more black beads and crystals embroidered to show the scene of Ygdrassil- This with Hati and Skoll devouring the sun and moon respectively. 

Loki knew it was morbid, but, he was slightly proud in a way to have brought forth Ragnarok.  
Technically.  
And he was only slightly proud.  
Just a tiny bit.  
A smidge.  
‘Slightly’.

“I do not have the same taste of flair as you brother.”  
“And may I remind you, tonight it the night we must have flair. Asgard is on display, and we are her champions. Refined, yet with arrogance and danger. Do we not look the part?” He smiled, tossing his cloak back with dramatic effect, earning him a genuine smile.  
“Aye, that is true. I suppose I should be glad you didn’t put some other midgardian myth on me. I mean- You look good. If a bit much.”  
“Ha. Ha. Very amusing, now, do you wish to truly court Dr. Foster?” Not that he disapproved the match. He rather liked her- (she’d hit him after all).   
“Of course. I just worry she will see it and think-”  
“Has she ever cared for anything beyond her love of the stars and her own heart’s want?” The question made Thor pause. “No. If she yearns for you, you could be blood soaked from battle and she would smile at your safe return. Your appearance only need be neat and tasteful. This is both, while also serving to remind our guests that we are still royal- and have the means to disgrace their simple suits with pageantry.”  
Thor snorted. His point made.

They went to the gates and began to greet the guests. 

\--

He didn’t recognize her at the gates, standing to the side as others past, walking arm in arm with their lovers, companoions, or family members. He didn’t see her until Thor pointed her out. Until she turned, and her eyes met his own.  
Lovely he remembered thinking her. Lovely, in her simplistic elegance. Now, looking at her in the white and gold dress, he thought her lovely for another reason. Because she just was. She stood at the gates edge, looking for someone, waiting. In the lull between greeting arrivals and dignitaries he made his way to her, smiling in response to her own. It was easy to talk with her- it always was. 

“A bit of a better turnout than Freya’s ball isn’t it?” He teased, mirth in him as she gave a chuckle, hands pulling pad free with pen.  
‘It is. There are so many guests I wonder how catering will keep up.’  
“Admirably. Not to mention we have some of the finest Asgardian delicacies. All thanks to a certain woman’s tenacity.” Her blush only made her more lovely. Delicate. Pretty he thought, she was pretty.  
‘You honor me with your praise your majesty.’  
“It is well earned.” Her shy smile, her humble acceptance of his praise was refreshing as usual. While he knew it was a lingering reaction to her sufferings, he liked it of her- that her accomplishments did not bolster her ego as it did others.  
“Loki!” Thor called out to him across the lawn. “Come! Pepper has pictures of Morgan!” Ah, yes, the tiny Stark. Who no doubt was at home, given her father’s fierce protectiveness.   
“Seems I am being called away again Ariel.” The use of her name made her open her mouth slightly, as if she might say something, yet nothing came of it, just more words on paper.  
‘Thank you for taking the time to speak to me your highness. I won’t keep you.’  
He grinned at her, wondering how far he might tease her that night.   
“Save a dance for me?” And her blush rose again, vanishing behind gold and white bodice. He briefly wondered how far it went. Still, her grace was admirable, her charm present as she wrote her reply.  
‘Only if you promise to not make me do so in front of the entire hall.’  
“Oh but darling,” He lifted her hand to his lips, relishing the feeling of her warmth, the callsouses against his own, “I can’t make a promise I can’t keep.” She laughed for him, and smiled motioning her head towards his brother. Speaking with her soothed his unease, his need to cause a bit of mischief on his own big day as it were.

\--

“Still watching over her?” The widow asked later that evening, swirling her drink. She and he avoided most of the throngs after the initial greetings and pleasantries. And after of course, Stark asking him and Thor when they planned to settle down only for Pepper to say they had all the time in the world. She was too good a woman for Stark.  
“Why do you ask?” Natasha blinked, her eyes hunting for his tell.   
“You spoke with her earlier at the gates.”  
“You’ll recall I spoke with nearly everyone at the gates.”  
“But they didn’t make you smile.” The spider was hunting, pulling him into her web. Alas, he thought, he’d been a spider before and his web was much larger than her own.   
“She is easy to converse with. No expectation of me, no asks. She simply wants to be.” Black Widow hummed. “You think I fond of her?”  
“I may not be in Asgard, but if I saw my prince looking at a human who by societal standards shouldn’t exist let alone live among my people? I’d speculate.” And resent. Unspoke words hung in the air.  
“It has become better for her.”  
“Are you certain?” He was too foolish to see her needles, her fingers plucking the strings.  
“I know my own people Natalia.” He hissed, realizing too late he’d shown her more than he wanted. The woman just hummed again, downing the rest of her glass.  
“Are you sure?” Her tone solemn. “Last time I saw her she was a beaten woman, barely hanging on to her own will to live. What I saw at the gates was a woman thinks she might finally belong.” But she didn’t. A year after and she was still an outcast. Still other. Still Asgard’s abomination. And Natasha saw it as he did. “Be careful with her. The closer you are to her, the more she will suffer for it.”  
“So I should let her be abused? Ignore her?”  
“No.” The hardness in Natasha’s eyes reflected his own. “But use her. It’s no secret half the Asgardians working under you are not liked on the outside. She’s your barometer for Asgard’s racism.” He bristled at the truth.   
“Why tell me this?” Why warn him of his own people’s self sabotage at the lower rungs.  
“There’s been talk in backrooms of stripping Thor and you of your autonomy. Of having you and Thor bound and stripped of powers by any means necessary. Of turning Asgard into a living lab.”  
“You think they who oppose us will attempt to use the Asgard’s own ire of humanity as a means to corral them.” She nodded.  
“You think there is a desire to-” She looked at Thor then him.   
“He’s not suited for taking care of this. Of fixing it.” He was. He was subterfuge. He was tactics and charm. Fear. Manipulation. Natasha and he spoke a language few others in the hall would understand.  
“I see.” He straightened his posture. “All this because you saw me smile at a woman.” He shifted the conversation as a couple of diplomats past them. “One might think you jealous.”  
“Hardly.” Still, her grinned to her and she grinned back. They were predators, vipers in shadows coiled waiting to strike.   
He danced with her, to the confusion and admiration of others- their movements synchronized in perfect harmony. They made themselves into weapons to better protect what they care for, to get what they wanted.

Loki looked out at the gate after his dance, and saw her still waiting at the gates, and let it be. She wasn’t to be given special favor. He couldn’t treat her differently.   
He couldn’t allow her to distract him.

\--  
He laughed and joked with guests. He ate fine finger foods, drank lavish drinks, took note and numbers of those seeking to curry his favor. His eyes briefly flashed just into the evening to the outside gates.   
She leaned on the stone pillar, looking out for who ever it was she waited for.  
\--

The night half over, he saw her again, a glimpse, in passing. Head lowered, holding the pillar with closed fists. Waiting for someone who hadn’t arrived and by his guess, would not.

\--

The party was dying down, the night carrying on late. Soon the band would end, and guests would return home. The bonfire had been lit, and the feast soon would be over. Thor was showing off his powers in a half drunken display. Thunder and lightning crackling the sky, rain falling heavy yet not a drop hitting the flames. Loki found it paltry at best. Such finesse over his element was child’s play, and Thor knew it. (Even if their guests did not, and all clapped over his weather show)*.

“I can’t believe it!” Loki nursed his wine, hearing the half drunk men nearby the window, speaking far too loudly. They drew this eyes from Thor and from his company.   
“I mean, I knew she was stupid but- god you were right!” They laughed, and Loki’s gaze looked to the dance floor expecting some poor woman to be badly dressed or disheveled from a tryst. Both were likely sourced for mockery.   
“Aye.” The voice clicked in his head. The guard. _Her_ guard. “She’s as gullible as anything.”  
“What was the bet again?” Another of the men spoke. “One hundred if she actually stayed past the first dance?”  
“500 if she stayed the whole night!” Another jeered.

Loki wished his mind did not think it. That fate wouldn’t be so cruel. That men, men who he called his people were not so cruel. But that, he knew, was a lie even he couldn’t sell.  
“Look at her!” Her guard mocked. “She’s still standing there like an idiot. I bet if I showed up, she’s smile and buy whatever excuse I give her.”  
“There is still the bet if you can bed her.” Loki felt sick. He felt rage. Hate burned and boiled in him. He had fought his bloodlust, his chaos so long and well.  
“Ha. I’d say you couldn’t pay me enough to fuck her. But-” He laughed. The bastard laughed. “It’s not like she could scream to stop us if we wanted to.” Loki would kill him before he ever touched her. Before he would ever-  
“Hell, I bet she’d beg for it. The bitch is so desperate for anything she might as well be on her knees anyway.” His knives were weightless in his hands. How warm would it feel he thought. How warm to feel his blood on his hands. To slake his hatred with violence.  
“You’re right!” They laughed. All of them- they laughed. “Grab her and pull her aside. She’d take it with a smile and thank us when we’re done!” 

He would kill them. His muscles were coiled, ready to strike. He looked out the window and-

There she was.  
Soaked, her dress clinging to her as she held into the stone pillar of the gate like it was the only thing keeping her standing. Her posture defeated, yet her face forward, her eyes looking for a man who wouldn’t come- because he’d already left her behind. She remained, cold, in the rain, for an entire night, holding out for the hope a man who had lied to her would arrive and take her on his arm. To be taken and treated like any other Asgardian.

“You can have her cunt-” the guard exclaimed to his friends. “I want to see that freak’s face while she-”  
“While she what?” He hissed, appearing behind them. His knives hidden. The reaction was immediate. The men sobered, mumbling, making excuses. Lies. He didn’t bother listening. He didn’t need to.  
“Let me be clear.” He hissed, making sure none but the men could see the murder in his eyes. The hate inside him at their jests and threats. At their promises to abuse and-   
“I heard what you spoke to do. Planned. You will face judgement as I see fit. Me. Not Thor.” They coward.   
“We- we did nothing!” One hissed back, ale no doubt making him brave. “You can’t reprimand us without King Thor’s approval. Besides, you can’t prove anything.” Some of the other felt emboldened. Loki let them have their moment of bravery, of thinking he’d not take matters into his own hands.  
“I am not going to reprimand you.” He smiled, teeth white. “I’m going to do far, far worse.” Their skin paled and he stood, imposing as they shuffled away, fleeing. When he looked out the window again she was still their. Untouched. Unmolested. Safe.

Yet still so very, very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skip: Ariel's guard, the on mentioned in the prior chapter, left her at the gate and joked of his abandonment and humiliation of her- inviting her was a bet. The joking led to talk of how they could rape her and get away with it. Loki overheard and nearly killed them, stopped only when he saw her still at the gate. He scared the men and threatened them, saving Ariel from being the target of a gang rape but being reminded she is still entirely alone.


	11. When you were alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV shift time- reader gets a bit of details ;3

It was hard not to cry. Your emotions were contained usually, guarded like secrets from lost kingdoms, as if at any moment someone might come to plunder them and use their for their own gain. After all, wasn’t that the way of it? You were old- older than any other human being in existence and yet barely looked at day over 25. You aged slowly with time, and sometimes it felt like the world left you behind. Everyone else did.

From the fleeing Asgardians who sought to escape Hela into the woods, to when they fled onto the ship, to when you were the last of them to be given a house and home and decent work. Being last, being forgotten- that was par for the course. You got used to it after 1200 years.  
But that is the past, which bares a bit of insight. 

A long, long time ago, when earth was still developing, when humanity was struggling, a war broke out and the weak short lived race of midgardians were caught in the middle. In was then, that raiders had come to your homeland. You still remembered it. It was one of but a handful of memories you had of your childhood, of the home that you’d been forced to leave behind. Green rocky hills, the smell of petrichor, and the feeling of rough spun wool against your shoulders, wrapped around you. Now the place was Ireland, and from pictures, you suspected it had been towards the northern part. But that memory was overtaken by another.

Blood, the smell of woodsmoke, screaming and cruel laugher. The raiders who came and killed your birthfather who tried to fight them to help your mother and you escape. Your mother, who bit the raider, who screamed and fought but gave in when you were pulled from her. You remember the rocking ship, smells of human waste and fear. Mother’s words. You were warrior blood. You were a child of the clan, (a clan long dead), and she would protect you. You couldn’t let them break you. As a child you didn’t comprehend what she meant- but as an adult you came to understand what your mother had done to keep you safe back then. What she had allowed to keep you alive. Your time as a slave is hard to recall, but you remember one thing- the sea. So blue and grey and green. The same as it was from your birthplace. The waters of earth back then had been equally vibrant as they were muted. The scent of seaspray. Of mist in the mornings and fresh seaweed. It was a kinder memory of that place.

The place before the war.  
When the war with the jontar had started, it had been rumors, and when the rumors became reality, your mother had not waited for her masters to free her chains. She’d grabbed you, weapons, and had run. How long you couldn’t say. Only that you didn’t sleep long. She carried you a lot- but eventually you met them. The golden armored Asgardians- and your mother spat on them when they had first met.  
Defiance she told you- defiance is what will keep your alive even if they kill your body. Because even if you are a slave, so long as you defy them in your heart, they will never own you.

You didn’t know of her romance with your step-father. Only that while later, you and she were taken by the bifrost and to Asgard. His new wife and step-child. You did remember meeting Odin, who looked down at you like he wished to erase your existence. You remember the apple, sweet and tart and painful.  
They never told you how much it hurt. How you were left alone with your mother as your body’s cells died and were remade. They didn’t tell you how you would be forced your mother to waste away in front of your very eyes, the life leaving her so suddenly, the apple a poison in her veins.  
She kissed your brow, called you by your name, and told you to remember who you were.  
‘No matter what comes- remember you are worth more than all the gold and all the magic in the world.’  
She died holding you close, her fingers in your hair as you wept in pain. From the change, and the loss of your mother. The loss of the only thing you knew and understood.

Life was hard. It was cruel. And as you grew you came to understand a great many things of Asgardians. Most of which you could never say.  
They loathed change, and hated deeply defiance of social norms. You were both by your very nature and existance. They resented anything different, and you were very much so. Your step-father had gone from loving to hateful, his ire at your life a resentment over your mother’s death. One slavery to another, you were raised to serve the gods. Cooking, cleaning, mending, making- a live in servant slave to a man who was keen to strike you for any perception of failure. Defiance was met with the lash, and any sound of sorrow met with a strike. 

Silence became your weapon. Then it became your curse. 

Yet-  
Yet.

There was goodness on Asgard. The plants that bloomed in the springtime. The wild creatures that lived at the edge of the woods, curious and kindly in the way they watched you,their own silent presence a better company than most. The queen- The queen who walked by your home and saw you working the garden, who spoke gently to you, and offered true work for coin. Coin your step-father wanted, having a penchant for spending it on women and mead. 

The queen had given you leave to come to the palace, to work, to learn. How wonderful it had been back then- to escape your step-father, to escape the cruel gazes of the asgardians and slip away to the library, to silence, to books of things you didn’t understand- but taught yourself to.

Did his highness remember you? Given his actions you doubted it. After all, what man remembered a girl-child from when he was a boy himself?

But you did. You did even when he fell, and your mourned. You mourned a man with a bright smile, who laughed when he read a funny book, and who left flowers in the library. Who would sit in the sunlight, eating those damn spicy cookies with a grin while magic spun in his fingers with a new spell. You mourned him, even if he did not remember you, or even really know you.

You remembered him, even when Hela came and claimed him dead. Loki was the defiant prince. The dark prince. The trickster and the mischief maker. You doubted the goddess’s words. 

So when your step-father dragged you to the palace to swear his allegiance and offer you as a sacrifice- You chose defiance. You chose to follow the words spoken to you long ago. You defied them- and when you saw the seeds you remembered him. His smile. You remembered her, her grace and kindness. You remembered- and for them you defied them. Stealing seeds of the rose they had loved so deeply. The only token you could take to remind you of the good in a realm of golden hate and lies.

In your flight you were the last. The loathed. Shoved away when it came to get rations. Blankets and bedding stolen by unknown persons and left to sleep on stone- and then later metal. Hated and scored. But you bore it. You smiled and accepted it. You knew it was to be- but you refused to accept it. To accept the other option. Defiance would keep you alive- and it did.

It did when you escaped Thanos. (The look on his face when you fled the ship, eyes catching his so frantic with raw fear and worry. His hand on your shoulder to catch your fall when you were shoved out last second by the escape pod. His guiding you to the last one, where he pushed you in and the command echoed in your ears. “Go. We will find you on midgard.” Spoken to all present, yet when his eyes found yours- his smile. His smirk, to hide the fear and to give a bit of hope. The trickster would not let himself be slain, he wouldn’t let himself be caught.

Defiance kept you alive when they threatened you with talks of samples and trials. Of taking you into custody, to ‘find relatives’ even knowing you would have none. The refusal to be human, the choice to be Asgardian. The defiance kept you alive when they ripped up your garden. When the hurled insults. When they shoved you as they walked by and they whispered how it would be better for you to have died and rid them of the burden that was your existence.  
Defiance, you mother said, will keep you alive even if they kill your body. Yet…

Yet.

It was hard. It hurt so much. Alone. Always alone you fought to live, to have the right to exist, to hope for something better in your life- and each kindness. Each smile and soft word was so alien, so wonderful you couldn’t help your tears. Your ugly fear of cruelty stopping you from accepting it. When called Asgardian. When he handed you the deed to the land and house. When he slipped into your home and offered work as a reward for you defiance.  
He saw you, and he gave you a reminder of what good existed on Asgard.  
Loki was kind, and when he gave you help you wanted nothing more than to run away. You expected demands, a price, and bargain yet none came. And even when you thought those fears realized, under things arriving in neat boxes with bows, you stood in his room, waiting for the loss of hope you had for a lingering kindness. The memory of a kind prince who had noticed a shy gardener in the library and given her a book for her own.

Yet he’d defied you.  
He held you gently, whispering comforts as he held your hand in his. As he took nothing and gave you everything. He gave you a hope so withered it was dying. He made you laugh with his words and magic- he smiled softly at you, as if you mattered. As if you were worth something, as if you were someone worthy of existence.

That you thought, was when you decided you would defy the chains of your life for him. That he was your prince, and he would have your loyalty till the flame of defiance burnt out. You cried again in front of him- you had long stopped crying for yourself. Yet in that year you had cried more than you had in hundreds- all for happiness. All because of him and his kindness. 

Now, months later. After so many passing days. After so many times just able to feel happy for the first time in hundreds of years, to feel truly happy and that you might belong- To even go so far to be emboldened by Loki’s kindness and acceptance, to think another man might look at you, notice you, want your company.  
To foolishly think someone might even love you.

After waiting in the rain for a man who you had known cared nothing for you, but you had wished so dearly to be wrong.  
After your prince came, his expression mired in sorrow, in knowledge.  
After he said ‘I am sorry.’

It was the first time since your mother’s death, you allowed yourself to cry for your own sorrows while hope died in your chest.

It was the first time someone held you close, unwilling to let you remain alone.


	12. In where Loki discovers a curse

Guilt.  
That was the emotion that had lanced his heart as he saw her eyes dim, another spark of life stolen from them, robbed from her joy and happiness. How many times did he have to see it happen, to watch her silently wither and wilt before she ended up hollow. As she wept, in heaving, gasping sobs, ugly tears and snot running down her face as ages of her sorrow came from her and overtook the rain, Loki felt guilt.

He did not cause her this pain, but he had not stopped it, even knowing what he saw and what he could do if only he bothered to care enough.

Frigga had told him he was soft hearted, but it wasn’t quite true- he was a man of passion and determination. He cared deeply when he felt a connection.  
And the little immortal midgardian had somehow done that to him. She’d managed to endear herself to him in a way he didn’t know how, and yet, also was reluctant to put a stop to. She, with all her unobtrusiveness, her passivity, her silent smiles and kind eyes- she had made a connection with him. And in his own mind he knew he’d not suffer her tears.  
His hands ran down her back, the cloth soaked and cold, yet he rubbed circles there, trying to ease away the tautness of her spine and the pain that came with anguish.

What else could it be? Sorrow was a common enough thing, but as he held her in the rain, as he felt every shake and cry that was soundless, Loki knew that sorrow did not capture all she felt. This was anguish. True, horrible, gut twisting anguish. This was the pain felt by a mother when her son did not return from war. The pain a husband felt when his wife was lost to the complications of birth. The agony of a child, ripped from their parents by uncaring societies. It was bone deep, it was a thing that grasped one’s soul and dug into, refusing to abate.  
Yet all he could do was hold her, and curse himself for thinking his people were better than he knew them to be.

“Come.” He did his best to speak gently, to try and use his honey voice to calm her, to ground her to the here and now. “Let’s get you out of this rain.” She clung to him tightly, hands fisted in what was once pristine black beaded vest now a waterlogged rag, the velvet no doubt ruined. When she failed to move, he gave a nudge, only to feel her grasp tighten; he drew a ragged breath and if left with a shuddering sigh.  
Loki cursed himself, and to his own private shame he felt the swell of her breast against him and relished the feeling. 

“Come.” His word was firmer, and his hand on her own was the key to an organic lock. Unwinding, her fingers loosened, came free to tangle with his own, as if desperate for touch. Perhaps that was exactly that. A need for touch. He moved slowly with her, a dance of trepidation and unspoken promises of comfort and consoling. Bit by bit, she relaxed against him, the anguish, sorrow and agony leaving her in a fragile cracked being, and Loki made every attempt to hold her with gentle and mindful hands.

Eventually, they did make it to the gazeobo, wood and tile keeping them from the downpour which worsened. Had Thor seen? Or had he just left the storm to go unchecked? It mattered little either way, as when Loki finally took a look at her, words died on his tongue. Skin ashen, clammy and cold, arms tight to her body, an armor so weak it gave nothing but an illusion of defense. And her dress- once so beautiful, ivory against her skin, the gold glittering- now it was sheer, the gold dull. His eyes traveled and the guilt hit him with a self loathing anger. She was not his- she was not to be seen that way. Not like this. Never like this.

Magic cast and dry they became, he still took his cloak and draped it over her, to ward a chill in the wind and offer another layer of perceived defense. Her eyes red and blotchy, her nose stuffed and the sound of her trying to clear her sinuses prevailed the air, but then he could not wait in silence anymore.  
“I take it you knew he would not come.” No answer, but Loki hadn’t expected one. “You-” He bit his tongue, wanting to ask why she waited, why hope when she knew better, why did she let herself suffer. Why did she hope when there was none left?  
“You should have come in.” It was painful without you there. He wanted to say. Even if not close, she was still… present. A comfort in his eyes, his reminder of the good that could be found in the dark that plagued Asgard.  
One hand lowered, it hovered and fell. No pen, no paper, no motions for words. “Do you want to write for me?” The slow nod of her head, she did not meet his gaze, yet the small book and pen were conjured easily and handed to her with no lack of consideration for her weak and frail grip. 

How weak she’d become- not from the cold or rain, but for having her heart crushed so publicly and thoroughly. Lokie vowed he’d torment those men, make them regret hurting her- make them suffer for their plans for her. The rage blossomed hot and heavy. The idea of her, ravaged, of her trying to appease them, desperate for acceptance she would embrace their abuse and torture. Monsters- his own blood and skin made to feel a little less wrong while the skin and eyes he coveted proved more evil than even he.

It sickened him. He was Jotun. A frost giant and loathed enemy of Asgard. The King by blood and right to a frozen world that thrived on violence and ruthlessness. A dark prince, scored for his magic and trickster. A would be conqueror and subjugator. Yet never once had he considered such a thing. Never would he have done a cruelty such as this. Not even when he was at his lowest, would such an evil be done by his hands. There was ruthlessness, callousness- and then needless cruelty. He did such things, but never to an innocent. Never to one who was already such a victim. 

Alone.  
Always, so painfully alone.  
That was the pain he felt when he stood by Thor. The pain when he walked the streets, seeing the smiles but none reaching their eyes. The pain he endured and embraced because it was all he had.

And yet she remained.  
Alone.  
Unwanted.  
Undesired.  
Cast aside, used, manipulated, misled, targeted and hated. 

She endured it all and still smiled, while here he sat beside her, thinking of his cursed blood.  
Truely, Loki thought, he was selfish.

‘Sorry.’ The word. Simple script, she let out a sigh, pen loose in her hand.  
“Do not be.” 

The pen trembled in her grip, shaking as if cold lingered in her bones. But the wetness in here eyes, cast on paper told him truths. He could not nothing for her pain. Nothing but try to understand how deep the wounds on her heart went.  
“Please.” He implored her, his voice gentle, coaxing. Silver tongue put to use. “Tell me- I will listen.” Had that been some phrase that made her react so? A sharp inhale, her head twisting, looking at him, eyes wide and locked in surprise. A doe, faced with danger, she would flee at the first branch’s crack.

The pen rolled across paper, and her words took shape while Loki’s died in his throat.  
‘I hoped I was mistaken, that he had true interest in me. That is why I stayed..’ Her pen paused before she went on. ‘He was kind, he joked with me, though I cannot laugh; he paid compliments and wasn’t one to glare or sneer at me. I was so afraid- afraid it was a lie- yet when he invited me as his partner I was elated. I lied to myself. I knew it was wrong, yet I tricked myself to think it was not.’

Loki stayed still as she filled the paper with her words before turning it working on another, letting her speak, uninterrupted.  
‘I just thought for once, I might have a chance, but like all things, I am mistaken.’  
“It isn’t wrong to want acceptance. Love.” He knew that feeling better than most, though he was not one to readily admit it.  
‘How can I be loved if I cannot even speak my own name?’ That made him tense. Her name- No matter how many times she’d been asked, she never said. She refused to say, as if she’d forgotten or-  
“Arie- No. You- my little gardener.” He reached out, fingers cupping her chin, making her tear streaked face look to his own. “What is your name?”

The soundless sad laughter, the bitterness in her eyes as she looked to him, as if she wanted to tell him every secret in her being but couldn’t.  
‘I can’t tell you.’ He presisted.  
“You can. If it is unwanted I will not call it to you-” He stopped, her pen moving without him looking at it. Hard lines under a single word. Under ‘can’t’.  
“You- you are unable to say your name?” Her head nodded, looking away, down at the floor. “It wasn’t that you didn’t have one- it was that you were not allowed?” Did the teachings of abuse linger even now? But her head shook again, and a new page was folded over, her words fresh and Loki left reading them, breath held as he learned of his little gardener.

‘You know of my step-father and his actions yes? His temperament?’  
“I do.” She sucked in the air, clear and deep, biting tears he could tell threatened to fall.  
‘When my mother and I came to Asgard and ate the Apples, she died, I did not.’ He knew this, why what-  
‘For a time then, I could speak. I could sing- and what I sung were the songs my mother taught me. Songs of the home we had left behind. Songs that reminded my step-father of my mother. Songs he never wanted to hear.’ Loki felt it, the dread of truth, ugly and twisted. Lies could protect, keep secrets that would hurt- and he could feel her pain like it was his own.  
‘It was too much? For him. So he took it away. To sing, to speak, to laugh, to cry- he took away my voice, and erased my name along with it.’

Loki felt the world drop out from under him. What she was describing was a curse- a curse reserved for exiles, criminals that were so much an affront to Asgard they were wiped from existence. Her step-father could not kill her so he had done the next best thing.  
He’d unmade her.

‘He hated me for living when my mother didn’t. He said he always would- and I would be able to speak again once ‘An Asgardian could stomach loving a creature like me’’ Loki wanted to vomit. He wanted to kill her step-father himself. He wanted to scream and get Thor and ruin Asgard for what it was. She’d been a child. A child and had been subjected to a curse that was considered a fate worse than death. And- Odin. Only Odin had this power, meaning Odin had allowed it. His own father had allowed this curse, placed this curse, he’d-  
Loki would kill the men who wanted to rape her. 

And then, a simple touch, her hand on his, the gentle hands holding his clenched fist, it was like she stole the rage and hate and left him empty. She was looking into his eyes, so understanding, so knowing and serene. How could she? She was subject to a gross injustice. To an abuse that had lasted her entire life. His expression must had been telling and she just shook her head and picked the pen up again.  
‘It is alright. I have made my peace with it. Tonight is just another lesson. My hope for a love is just that, a hope. I should not have such when there is none.’  
“No.” Loki was not willing to accept that. He couldn’t. “What was done- what they did to you- I-” He looked at her, the confusion.  
“I am sorry. You do not deserve to suffer like this.” Her lips parted ever so much, eyes widening.  
‘No! No! It is my fault! I am the one who isn't suitable is all-”  
“No!” He pulled the page from the notebook, throwing it down. “Do not say that! You are kind and charming- beautiful and intelligent. You saved a piece of our history when all others only sought to flee! How can you think that?” He was so… he could not understand her. Understand this notion she was so unwanted.  
His actions startled her and while she got a new page, Loki made up his mind. Normally, a unmaking could only be undone by the one who cast it. Her step-father and Odin both were dead- but she knew how to undo it. That was the key. The curse might be unbreakable by his power…  
“I will find someone who will love you.” His declaration was firm and resolute. Her face a look of shock and awe. “I know the name, age, habits, talents of every eligible Asgardian here dove. So why not use that to our advantage? I’ll break your curse.” There was a look in her eyes, a flicker of warmth, of something.

He grinned standing and offering her his hand. “Now stand up. You owe me a dance.” Her hand was small in his own, yet he felt her calluses. The timid touch, the warmth in her skin. “Dance with me Ariel, because tomorrow morning, we see about finding a man to fall in love with you.” Her smile was broken, yet the joy, the hope, the warmth in her wet eyes was all for him. Tears of hope and joy spilled down her face as he spun her, his magic crafting music for them alone. As they danced and he made her laugh in silence, as she smiled for him once again.

‘Tomorrow’, Loki thought, ‘I will find you a man who would love you.’  
‘A better man than me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for pinning and unspoken love.


	13. In where Loki plays matchmaker

Tomorrow came, tomorrow went. It was now today, and like all ‘todays’, Loki loathed to admit his tomorrow was coming faster than he’d like. His promise from the former yesterday was very much on his mind, and after having spent one night, sleepless, scouring his brain for anyone he thought as worthy of her, of his little gardener, he had a very short list.

He also knew that none on the list would be really worthy of her- and they also would have no chemistry. King T’Challa was enamored with one his guards. The red witch was in love with the artificial man. The Man Out of Time was now old and had lived his life with his love. Thor was just- no. He’d not stomach that. He that is- Thor would jump at the bit if he knew. When Loki removed his idea of worth and looked only at the merits of men and women…. The List was still terrible. The underwater prince was wed wasn’t he? Loki didn’t care, he was rude. Strange was a mistake to even consider in the running. The birds of Stark and the Captain were somewhat possible but had no chemistry, no fire. The Winter Soldier would probably be as shy as she. And Valkyrie…   
He huffed, she has worked through her alcoholism so she might be a good choice… Banner was too afraid to seek as his spider was back. Heimdall?

“Norns take me to Helheim.” The goldened eyed man only had eyes for Asgard, not for her women. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he felt the fool for the first time in ages. Here he was, a man of his prime, trying to set up a match for a women who was neither of his house, nor even near his station. By all rights, had this been Asgard as it was, he’d likely never have done more than bat an eye at the woman.   
A lie- He’d have been interested by far for more dubious reasons. A lone midgardian woman, mute, who worked in the palace gardens? He’d have seduced her, made her his paramour, and kept her close enough to indulge yet made sure no other would seek her out. Rarities he liked- he knew this of himself. More? He was weak to the sufferings of women.

Pulling up the registry, he began to look at each man in Asgard- all who were unwed. The list discounted all his notions- and he only omit those he knew were of ill values like the men at the party who’d taken to mocking her. In the end- he hated it. He absolutely hated it. All the men made him frown for one reason or another. She was-

Loki hissed at himself. He was doing this for her sake, for her happiness he reminded himself. She deserved such after all she’d done. She deserved to have someone to support her and give her what she so dearly needed. Loki could offer her support- but only that of her prince. Not as anything more.

And yet, as he looked at the registry, at the men he would send to her, he couldn’t help the tiny sadness in his chest, knowing she’d choose one of them, and likely he’d not see much of her once she fell in love for something other than the flowers. He felt sad, because soon, no one would be left who loved his mother’s roses as much as him.  
\---  
It took time.  
Effort.  
And far too many nights scouting in the tavern chatting with many men he’d normally avoid to begin. He was determined to see his sweet gardener’s curse broken. After all, it was the most daunting challenge he’d been presented with in years. Make it to a man and woman would fall in love. And there wasn’t a way to trick a curse like that with a love potion. He would know, he’d had tried such things many ages ago in his youth, (which of course, ended very badly for him). 

Now he had his first hopeful. His name was Lund, and he was a rather resourceful man, decent as far as Loki could find, and rather accepting of their lot, to be among midgardians and relegated to a plot of land that was nothing like Asgard’s former splendor. It was a simple matter of having him cross paths with her and interact with her a few times. Simpler said than done. 

Lund was a dockhand, bringing in fish, (and on occasion shipments from other towns), for market. Decent work, honest work- the kind that would keep food on the table and a roof over one’s head. Modest, Loki told himself, his gardener would like a man of modest means and merits. She didn’t strike him as one who liked frivolities. So Lund the dockhand was set to cross paths with the gardener when she’d go to procure fertilizer for the gardens. It was well known after all, fish meal was useful. At least, thats what his sources said. His sources being an article he read in one of the magazines lying about years ago when imprisoned. Either way, he sent Ariel to the dockhand to pick up a shildment and had her instructions to include picking up a few other things as well for the royal house. (Fish, what else). 

When she set off- he was entirely pleased with what he saw as he followed her and spied on his hopeful match. He was boring, but boring was safe and not terrible. He was cordial and she was as charming as ever. Their first meeting was terribly normal and passive- but it was a start.

One meeting turned to two, and two to three, and then every 3 days. Thor had begun to realize they were frequently having fish.

Yet the man never moved to act on his obvious attraction. A month of their meetings and not a spark past cordial manners and business. Had he thought the look of attraction in Lund’s eyes false?   
It was only when Loki guised himself and went to the tavern did he find out why. Loki, guised had even asked the man when he’d been drunk to be sure.  
Lund didn’t want half breeds.

Loki changed Ariel’s routine that night.  
\----

Months passed, and Ariel remained as he’d met her. Alone  
Two years since he’d returned, since he’d taken his role and place and met the unspoken savior of Asgard. Since she’d arrived, begging to be called an Asgardian and wept at his feet in happiness when she was granted acknowledgement.  
Yet nothing he did seemed to draw anyone closer to her. Nothing seemed to make her glow with the look of love a woman had when she would entertain the men who’d express interest. There had been a few, but all had ended their relationships with her for various reasons. One had done so because he disliked her muteness. One, because she spent too much time in the gardens, not enough time with him. Another had broken things off because she was to tidy, (more, Loki thought, she held him to a standard he disliked). The most recent beau that had courted Ariel had left her for another, citing ‘her relationship to the prince’. 

Loki had nearly hunted the cad down himself for the slander- she was far too modest and well mannered to sleep with him. Not to mention she had no desires for him or his person.The only upside was her current courting partner.

He was no Fandral, but he was charming, and as a man who worked as carpenter, he’d not be sort of work- humans were rather fond of his talents and ‘true asgardian designs’. She blushed when he spoke, and smiled softly at his words. He laughed at his own jokes and brought her flowers and didn’t seem to mind her taking time to write.  
He was a perfect gentleman, an ideal man for Ariel. When Loki saw them together she seemed happier. Almost like she might glow.

Yet when he looked upon them, her hand in his, Loki felt a twinge of sadness. Once her curse was broken- she’d be nothing remarkable. She’d likely start a family, chose a different profession or cease altogether. 

Loki sighed to himself.  
Two years since he’d met her.   
And now, he almost wished he hadn’t.


	14. In where Loki tastes a lie

The news was not fast- nor, was it well known. Loki had to admit, few things took him by surprise anymore. But this? The news he got from being nosey and slipping into shadows out of habit- eavesdropping on workers and attendants- was something that took the wind from his sails. It was a hard strike to the gut as the saying went, and he felt a stone drop in him as the words reverberated in his skull like a dull echo in the night.

Engaged. His dear gardener was engaged, to that man. The carpenter- His name had never bothered Loki before now- Lothrin. Now the name and mere mention of the man had it taste like racid bile on his tongue. It made him feel ill. Some part of him knew it was base jealousy, brought on by a craving to also find a love, a companion for the rest of his days- but he did not wish to examine those feelings or emotions. They were distractions, beside he rationalized. He was to feel happy for Ariel, she had obviously found someone who gave her affection, attention, and love she so rightly deserved. He should be happy for her.

Even if her happiness made his insides twist in ways he wasn’t sure how to describe.

Still, as he kept to shadows to learn secrets, (and mostly to avoid Thor wanting to train with him), Loki did see evidence of change within Ariel. She smiled, she moved softly but not out of fear, she was more active and seems to finally starting to bloom after so long of being neglected. Yet her eyes remained unchanged. They were still the same. Curious, he did not look into it. She was mute, but eventually, that would vanish- a name was not so hard when one was in love was it not? Her curse would be broken soon enough when the man said her name, that much was certain. 

He.. hoped? Was it hope? That he would learn her name in the end. Be able to call her her name and not a minonker. To see her face when she finally was who she was and not what she was. How amazing he thought it would be, to feel her name on his tongue, no doubt the sweetness contrasting to the ash of Ariel. 

Yet something felt amiss. No matter how he wanted to chalk it up to his own self doubts and his own base jealousy over a woman who’s heart was not his or for him, Loki felt like there was something off about the whole affair. The whispers he heard spoke of an unusual pair, but a happy one. That the little gardener was ardent in her adoration, and the carpenter devoted to her happiness. That he was truly a kind and loving man. That there was already a child on the way- (Loki hated how his stomach dropped hearing that, how it made him feel ill and hurt). It seemed like common rumors of such- a wedding or rather, an engagement so soon after such a short courtship.   
Most Asgardians spent five years in basic courtship, before actually even announcing they were courting at all. Then it could be anywhere from 20 to 50 years courting, add on another five usually for the engagement period. Less than a year was more than rare- it really only ever happened unless the woman was with child. 

Needless to say he decided to be his usual self and pry into matters that didn’t concern him.   
This time in the form of looking into medical records. What he found wasn’t pregnancy but other things. Antidepressants. Anti-anxiety pills. PTSD. Trauma therapy- all prescribed. Loki felt like interloper once again. It wasn’t his business, yet the knowledge on affirmed what he knew and believed. His little gardener suffered, and did so in silence. His only comfort was that she was not pregnant. He didn’t want to think her marriage would be from such a reason, (nor, did he wish to think of how quickly mortals would gather to try and steal away the babe).

Still, Loki couldn’t help himself. Something tasted like ozone- too close, too unusual and not quite right. She was happy so why did it persist? Why did it feel like there was a lie when he couldn’t find one at all? It made no sense, and so, Loki let it go, letting the two lovebirds keep their secret until they were ready.

It did not mean he was ready.

The man chose to announce their engagement publically, drawing attention to Ariel, making her shy away. It drew public interest. The first Asgardian wedding- and to the resident human no less. People wanted tickets. News wanted stories. Interviews. The man gave them gladly to those vetting by Thor and their PR team, but Loki felt wrong. It all felt wrong. Yet Ariel smiled and looked at him like he was her sun and stars. Which was good Loki told himself. She deserved the sun and stars. 

“Loki!” Thors hard slap to his back made him wince, and he grunted. The oaf was ever the same, even when Loki felt like things were moving too fast, even for him.   
“Come now, you look like you have eaten a lemon. You were the one who set them up after all.” He sneered at Thor’s words, true as they were. It did not mean that his mind twisted as he tried to pin down why it just didn’t make him feel good like it was supposed to. He wanted to break her curse. To be the one to have found a means around Odin’s own magic. To in his own way, do what hadn’t been done for a thousand years. He wanted credit for breaking the curse- even if the one who loved her was another.  
“Do you find it odd?” He found the words slipping out, honey sweet. “That he’d wed her so shortly? One would think less kind things if-”  
“Ah!” Thor waved it off, pulling out a disgusting can of ‘beer’ from the small fridge. They were in his ‘man cave’ as it was called. A vulgar place where Thor liked to waste his time and spend inordinate hours on a game played upon computers.   
“Loki, she and he will be happy. It’s a good thing they’re getting married too! Helps show that Asgard is moving on.” Loki disagreed, but did accept the small bottled water Thor handed to him.  
“It will be the first wedding you perform as King.” Thor coughed, and the sputter gave Loki some satisfaction when he reminded his brother of his duties. “Do you recall all the ceremony you must do? And, are you ready to provide the lady a dowry? As I recall, she is an Asgarddottir. Meaning-” Thor blanched and laughed weakly. She was named the daughter of Asgard, and so it would be the royal house that provided a dowry for her.   
Loki got in the last laugh as Thor began to mutter about planning and needing to speak to the legal team of marriage laws.

Still, later the week, Loki still found the whole affair bitter in his mouth. Something amiss, something off. He had chalked it up to his own feelings of not being directly one to break the curse, and his (reluctant) admittance he would miss your silent company when he had it. Yet.  
Yet.

He had delayed meeting her- avoided her like he was boy and she a teacher who’d scold him for asking a foolish question. Asking her was the most easiest and direct way to simply vanquish his trepidations over her impending marriage wasn’t it? Shaking his head he stood outside of the garden, knowing full well she was the only one left for the day, working on the last tidy on the roses. Roses that seemed to be stuck in a perpetual state of pre-bloom. The blossoms grown, yet non had unfurled. Perhaps waiting for the right conditions. He’d have to talk to Thor about a summer storm soon, It might help.

She spun when he walked in, the click of his boots on stone the only sound aside from cloth as he moved towards her. Her smile struck him- so real, genuine and bright! His stomach dropped. There was no lie there, she’d not have a lie to speak to him today. And even if she did, surely, she’d have her reasons.  
“Little Gardener.” He teased her, and the color in her face make that cold in him warm just so. She was so… she was lovely. As lovely as she’d been at the dance so long past. “Still working? Do you not have anything better to do?” The words were laced with a light scathing tone, yet her knowing smile, the twinkle of understanding was in her eyes as she shook her head.  
“What of your wedding?” 

Lips parted a hair, her eyes flicked with something too fast for him to see. Loki’s feelings grew inside him, growling, demanding an answer to question he hadn’t had before. Her smile was softer as she pulled out her notepad, words flowing in black ink.  
‘It is planned in full. My fitting is tomorrow.’  
“Fitting?” He asked stupidly. Her dress, he admonished himself. She was getting fit for her dress! He felt a fool at his own idiotcy.  
‘My dress. Lothrin chose it- it’s a nice pastel orange.’

He frowned. Orange wouldn’t compliment her at all. With her bright hair and eyes she would need a more vibrant color, or, a darker shade. Orange- she wasn’t a fruit.   
‘Your highness, please understand, not all of us look as dashing in emerald as you.’ Her smile was warm again, and he laughed at the words. She would look divine in green. Emerald especially. But- “Yes, I suppose you in my colors would have people talk. Not to mention it is as you say, none look as dashing as I.” He smirked as he met her eyes, so kind and full of vibrancy as they talked.   
“Or does that only apply when I wear the color I am known for?” Her blush was a source of his pride, admiring how it bloomed bright pink in her cheeks and ran down her neck like watercolor.   
‘You know you are very much a dashing prince charming your highness.’  
He snorted, “To who? I hardly see anyone seeking me out or trying to win my favors with flattery.”  
Her blush darkened at his words and he tilt his head in confusion as she wrote- until he saw her words.   
‘You have always been such to me, your highness.’ He was taken back to his vow- to be her prince, to be worthy of her admiration and devotion. He was wanting to do that for her- a woman who had faith in him and his word even when he was the lie smith. It hurt to think her charm and wit and grace would be wasted on a man hardly worth the wood he carved.

“You honor me, Ariel.” He bowed to cover his own feelings, to hide how he knew his face would betray his shame in coveting her praise so highly. She was only a gardener, nothing else. An acquaintance at best.   
“But, my looks aside, I am glad to hear your nuptials are going smoothly. I take it you are excited?” He noted her nod, her eyes on the notepad, not meeting his own. He didn’t want it to be a lie, (he wanted it to be a lie, to see her with someone worthy of her and her gentle heart).   
‘I’m nervous. He wants everything perfect, and I am just afraid I will cause a fuss with my being what I am.’ Ah. That was it then. Her shyness, her hesitance was just born of her lack of confidence. He was… glad. Yes, of course he was glad. She was in love, and to be wed. He was happy for her.

“We all become nervous when we face change, but being with the one we love helps ease our worries and woes at it were.” He hesitated himself for a moment- then, he held her hands in his, holding the pen still.   
“I am happy you have found someone you love.”

Ash and dust and bile and lies. A cold and cruel lie he told himself. It was poison and wrong and he knew it yet it slipped from his mouth as easy as silk and silver. He was not happy. He was… dissatisfied. He felt like she’d been cheated, wronged. She was worth so much more than what he might offer her. All her brilliance, her radiant smile, her bright and knowing eyes, the softness in her touch, the gentle way she cared and nurtured the gardens, her intellect and wit and charm.  
Wasted on a man who boasted nothing more remarkable than having survived Ragnarok by sheer luck alone. 

She didn’t meet his eyes as she squeezed his hands back before drawing them, and their warmth away.

Black in colored her words.  
‘Thank you.’ It was on the roof of his mouth, thick, cloying.  
‘I am glad to have found someone who can love me as I am.’

She left soon after, and Loki sat in the gardens, bile threatening to crawl up and out his throat. He felt the burn of tears wanting to be shed in fury, in anger and rage.

Her finals words tasted like a lie.


	15. In where Loki's heart is broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I drank my angst juice this morning hope y'all ready
> 
> TW: The content is a bit large and covers most of this chapter. Mentions of planned abuse, manipulation, rape. Summary of the chapter at bottom.

He hated knowing but not knowing. Her words in the end had been a lie. She claimed to have found someone who loved her as she was. There was numerous possibilities to what part of that was the lie but from experience, the lie was always the most simplest of facts. Either she didn’t love the man, or he didn’t love her. It was aggravating to know she was perhaps walking towards her own suffering once more, and this time, Loki had been the one to help create it. 

That was why he sat outside her window, guised as a sparrow while she went about her morning routine. Wake, bathe, dress, (he had tried to avert his gaze- but he saw enough. He drank in the sight just as he’d done months ago when she’d come to his chambers thinking she was to ‘service’ him. Only this time, there was the fact she’d not known she’d had an admirer on the other side of the glass). Nothing unusual. Her day was simple- she went to the kitchens and got her meal, eating alone before going out to the gardens and beginning her work. Midday luncheon she once more took her meal alone, and after, went to her dress fitting.

Ugly, he thought, watching at a distance. Orange looked ugly on her. Garish. Lothrin clearly had no taste in garments. Ariel would be much better suited in darker hues to contrast her hair. And bias as he was, green would look the most alluring on her. It was.. Strange. He saw the women at the shop offer various bridal veils, and when they put a gold tiara in her hair, the white lace covering the top half of her face? Loki felt something twist in him. He could easily see a different tiara on her brow, the lace gold and dotted with diamonds- it was a silly thing, picturing her in a crown fitting for royalty.  
For a prince’s bride.

He shook the thoughts away and waited for her to leave the fitting- it took four hours, (which left her looking so worn and tired he could only empathise. He knew just how tedious fittings could be for ceremonies). The end of her day, she was stopped by Lothrin who bragged of her to his companions and whispered something into her ear, a red blush blooming before he laughed and left her. Loki huffed. A true love would stay with her rather than leave her for his drinking companions to their ‘bachelor party’. But that was for later- He was watching his little gardener until she slept.. 

Dinner, dressing for bed and-  
Loki sucked in a breath as he saw it. A tome, worn leather but soft- well used. The clasp a darker gold and pulsing with faint magic. Her pen in hand she wrote in it and Loki wanted to howl at the perfect irony of it. His sweet had a diary! A place where she kept all her secrets in one place! It was perfect. While yes it would be an invasion of her privacy this was for her future- to make sure she would be happy. She’d understand once it was all said and done.

Loki flew back to his own rooms, pleased with what one day of casual spying had gained him. He smiled at his own reflection, proud of how things were going, even if not as originally planned. His little gardener would be happy. He swore it. He-

The thought ticked in his head. Lothrin. He’d nearly forgotten. It was just roughly two hours after he’d gone to his ‘bachelor’s party’. And if it was like any Asgardian revelry, it would last until morning. Loki looked at himself in the mirror.  
He did make a dashing blond when he wanted to be- and the night was as they said, young.

It was a simple enough thing to arrive to the party in question. One tavern in the whole settlement helped narrow the choices. Lothrin was red in the face, and he and his companions were quite deep in their cups, laughing and yelling as-  
Loki blanched. Women dressed in next to nothing writhed on their laps, pawing at them and being groped and fondled in return. Indecent- and most seemed to congregate and ply for Lothrin’s attentions. Attention that currently was focused on mock fucking a woman in the chair. Anger rose like hot embers stoked by fresh wood. Kindling was needed for the flames to take and it would not need much. But the prince held himself back, getting close enough to hear, but magic keeping him unnoticeable and unremarkable enough to warrant no passing glance. 

“Loth!” One of the men called to the groom. “I still- you can’t be serious can you? Giving up this? For that mongrel?” Loki’s jaw twitched. She was more refined and Asgardian than him.  
“Ach, you really think He’d give up the good life for a woman? The half-breed might scratch and itch but she’ll never beat a tight goddess cunt!” Loki’s fingers clenched. Goddess- there were none that would sleep with such disgusting men. Even Lorelai had some standards.  
“Come on Loth, you still haven’t tol’ us yet why you’re even marrying the freak.” The first man yelled.  
“Yeah! Her pussy can’t be that good!” Another man yelled back. Loki hated these curs. And to think they claimed to be this man’s friend and spoke of his bride to be so crudely and poorly and he said nothing against it he-  
“I love her!” The proud exclamation from Lothin shocked Loki for a moment. 

Then the bile rose and ash coated his tongue. Lie.

“Haha! I haven’ gotten to taste her yet- but she did tell me she’s never been with anyone.” The sickness in Loki’s stomach worsed.  
“Fuck you serious?”  
“You’ll have to let us sample her!” “Yeah, she might be an abomination but she’s at least 1000 years tight!” He barely could keep his stomach down. He would kill them. They were never worth of her. They didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her! How dare they think he’d allow such a thing to happen to his-

“She’ll be my wife!” It was a cold bucket of water to hear those words. Loki had no right to meddle as he was. To claim any aspect of her for himself. She loved this man, this bastard- and he…  
“But you can have her once I’m done.”

Loki froze in his steal, ears straining for each word out of Lothrin’s mouth.  
“I’m not going to stay with her long. Just enough to get my rocks off and collect the dowry. Once I fuck her, I’ll just disown her and get the divorce. I mean really- it’s not easy pretending to care for her. She’s disgusting when you think about it. That hair, those eyes- she’s not human and she sure as the sun isn’t Asgardian. No, once I get to ruin her, you all can have her. The only thing a freak like her is good for is getting your dick wet- and even then you have to know you’re fucking something as dumb as an animal!”  
“Hahaha! You’re right! Might as well fuck a horse if you fuck her!”

They laughed.

“I mean really.” Lothin’s voice was clear. “Who could love an abomination like her?”

He didn’t stay. He couldn’t stay. His feet carried him away, hands and body shaking as he tried to process what he’d heard. Truth. All those horrid things were truths. They believed those things. They would act those things out. They would….  
Norns help him, Lothrin-

Loki would kill them later. He had to tell her. Meddling or not, he could not leave this be. He couldn’t let his sweet gardener be used so cruelly, so horrifically. 

She greeted him at her door with a soft look, half dozed from sleep.  
(So delicate, so soft, he lips parted as she mouthed his name in wonder he wanted to hold her close and not let any touch her, to keep her by his side so none could harm her and ruin her gentle heart and kind soul). 

His told her everything.  
His following of Lothrin to the tavern. The words spoken. The threats that were real. The plan to use her, abuse her heart and leave her broken. As he finished he looked at her, and saw her head down, a notepad in hand.  
“Little one- Ariel.” he pleaded. He hated this. Hurting with truth. It was the bane of his mantle. To be a god of lies yet to know the pain of the blade that truth was. A lie was often the way one hid the wounds truth left behind.  
“Please, darling, you must call it off. Thor would understand. It is an easy thing to do- you would need not fear anything. The costs of the venue and dress and catering- all of it. Gone with nothing more than a flick of my wrist. You do not have to marry him. Please.”

Please don’t tell me you love him.

Loki wanted to say the words but they died in his throat.  
“My dear one.” He went to his knees before her, reaching up to cup her face, to have her look at him, to try and see that this hadn’t stolen the last light in her eyes. That it wasn’t his fault. That he wasn’t the one who’d ruined her chance at happiness.

But when a hand came to hold his own to her cheek, she drifted her face to kiss his palm. Warm, it was the kiss of comfort. His comfort.

And when loki looked into her eyes he recognized the emotion there. The emotion that had flicked the day before when they’d spoken of the nuptials.  
The pain of knowledge. 

“You knew.” Her smile is kind, and her eyes close as she presses her face into his hand like a cat, drinking in his touch. He wanted to ask why. Why all this if she knew, why go along with this farce, knowing it would hurt her?

“You knew he didn’t- doesn’t- love you?” He doesn’t knwo what to say, what to think. She is just hurting herself. All of this pain she will endure is wanted? She would inflict this injustice, this cruelty on herself?

Another kiss to his palm, she lets his hands fall as she picks up the pen and paper by her.

'I knew he didn't love me' Loki could feel his own heart ripping to shreds. His soul is screaming this is a truth. Clean and real yet it brings no comfort. Just the pain of knowing. The agony of knowledge. This is not a lie.

'But I just wanted to make myself think maybe I was wrong, and maybe, even if just for a moment, someone could want an abomination like me.'

He stares into her eyes and feels himself lost. He feels the truth of her soul laid bare and naked before him in these simple words.  
She did not think herself worthy of love. She didn’t think she could be loved. And… why would she? Her whole life she has been told the opposite. She had seen nothing but the ire and hate and scorn of Asgard. She is the creature none spoke of, the being none would seek. Alone, isolated, she lived her life expecting to die as she lived. And when she sought to break those chains, to free herself- the chains came back, and she was proved wrong in hoping for a different life. She was nothing to Asgard. She was not worth the love of Asgard.  
Made into a thing, a mockery, a character to fill the role of creature so vile it was to be treated as beneath any other. She wasn’t considered even human. 

Loki looked at her, dawning horror inside him.  
Did she even remember what it felt like, to be loved? Had it been so long she’d known what love felt like that she would do this? Torment and willingly cut out her own heart just to feel the mockery of it for one night?

She smiles for him, full of dark, sad, knowledge as she avoids his gaze.  
She is not Asgardian. She never will be.

She is alone. Adrift in a world and a people who she will never be apart of.  
She is exactly like him in that way. But Loki knows the kindness of love- from a mother, a brother, and even the love of a father.

She has no one.  
No one but a fool prince who leaves at her request, who screams in his room in agony as he hears the words on the paper.

‘Even if it is a lie, I would like to believe it, if just for a while longer.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Loki trails Ariel/Reader to find she has a diary, and hears her fiance his having a bachelor party. He goes to the party to discover Lothrin plans to rape her on their wedding night, collect her dowry, and then disown her and divorce her the next day, possibly letting his friends rape her as well. Loki relays this to Ariel who confesses she knew Lothrin's fake love but accepted it anyway, if just to feel like it was 'real' for a short while. The depth of her broken heart and want of love is fully realized when she sends Loki away, who rages at the truth of it all.


	16. In where Loki breaks a lock

The wedding was tomorrow.   
24 hours from that moment, Loki would be looking at the woman he admired and felt such empathy for giving her heart, (and body), away to a man who only saw a piece of flesh and a prize to win.   
It was injustice at its finest. He couldn’t even tell anyone. She’d asked him not to. She wanted this… this farce. He howled and raged and screamed in his room, magic keeping his words silent to the outside world. None could know the depth of this crime against a soul so good, so worthy of everything the cosmos had to offer and more. 

He balled his fists as he saw people scattered about the gardens, putting up decorations and scowling when the bride walked by but smiling when the groom greeted them. The first Asgardian wedding- and they hated it. They hated her. They were idiots and fools and selfish and needlessly cruel. He wanted to make them see what he saw, know what he knew. She was…   
She was deserving better than a helpless, ineffective prince. 

And that was why he was upset as he was (wasn’t it?). He had promised to be _her_ Prince. Not the Prince of Asgard, not the Prince of a displaced people- but a Prince for _her_. A prince worthy of her.   
And here he was, helpless in the face of her sorrow so deep and heartfelt that it made his own bleed. She longed for a love so much, for acceptance from those that she was supposed to be welcomed and embraced by she would create a lie and make herself believe it. He had once felt the same. He knew that heart song well. Yet he had known love. He had known the warmth and comfort of kin and kind. His agony had never been so bleak, so robbed. Even at his lowest, did he not have Thor? Did he not have Frigga? Even, reluctant as he’d admit, he had Odin- who spared his life when faced with the crime he’d done a lifetime ago.

But she… hadn’t. She had only the memory of a mother, and the memory of a sea she had seen while being stolen from one home to another. Loki breathed through his nose and shook his head as she sat himself down, far from the window, from view of her.   
She had been kidnapped as a slave, then taken to a world nothing like her own. Outsider, she’d been set to die but had survived. She survived alone, watching her own mother perish and the man who was supposed to protect her, nurture her, care for, turn his back upon her and treat her as the mortals might have done. A slave, just by another name. 

Helpless, ineffective, useless prince.  
Unworthy.

Bitterness lanced his thoughts to how Thor was blind to it, to his own unwillingness to see the facts as they were. To see now years after settling, their people refused to change. They refused to adapt. They were dying out by choice. They were welcoming their own demise. A snort left him. At least Thor could no longer tout being worthy with Mjolnir gone. 

 

He tapped his foot as he tried to rein in his thoughts. There had to be a way to stop her, to get her to see reason. But each time he’d tried she had cut him off. Hands holding his own, words died on his lips when she would give him that sad knowing smile. A gentle nod of her head. She knew his reason, his ire, but it was her choice. She would rather have a lie than have never had anything at all. And he could guess why. She would eventually be driven out. Learning the gardens was a thing Another Asgardian could do, pick up. Her job had technically been completed months past. She’d revived the plants, cultivated the roses. She’d gotten the garden to a reflection of what grandeur it had been on Asgard. Her role was filled. Her duty finished. There wasn’t any excuse for her to stay as a resident worker anymore. Her job was null. She’d need to find other work, and with the way people looked at her, treated her- there would be none. She’d be forced out of Asgard… and into the world of Midgard. 

A world she hadn’t known and had left behind in half forgotten memories. Her DNA was prized. Her biology a secret waiting to be exploited. She’d have to sell her very being to survive, if only to be protected from worse experiments. There would be no sanctuary for her, no solace or peace. Just an existence filling the wants of others, her life determined by her blood ever still.

Loki wished perhaps, he’d have met her sooner, known her sooner. Maybe then they’d have gotten along. Outcasts together. Friendship between the dark prince and the wayward Midgardian. A childish want- the past was firmly in the past, and back then, he’d only ever passed her by. Maybe that too, had been to her benefit. Having his attention would have only served her father’s ire- and with the abuse she suffered at his hands, he doubted she would have survived that level of anger from the fool.

Idle, he thought of all the things he could say and had said. Yet nothing thus far had shown your mind to change, to want for something else, for more. You had… given up in a way, and that disappointed him. The last embers of you were burning out, and this was the final spark come to be put out. He hated it. She was so wonderful- a bright spot among the drab and dull and same blonde and brunette waves he say every day. Every time she smiled at him it was so heartfelt, genuine. Her gifts and kindness came from her and nothing more. No lies or deception- none save her the ones she told herself.  
She was telling herself it would make her happy but Loki had walked such a path once. A lie made for a poor life.

Telling herself-  
The chain tumbled as he stood with a startling realization. Her diary. The little book he’d seen her write in. He’d nearly forgotten. Had forgotten. Oh she would hate him perhaps, so seeking such intimate knowledge. But he had to. It was dire, her wedding hours away. Surely, he could find her secrets, use them against her. It wasn’t a long shot. No, she likely had built herself up for these decisions over time, and with her diary, he could pick it apart to pull her apart- putting her back together again. To keep her from making such a mistake, from taking a dagger and digging into her own heart rather than letting another do it for her.

Loki moved.

He was hidden as usual, slinking in shadows on his way to the living quarters of the staff when the voice broke the silence of th hall.  
“You should know things will not end well if you take action now.” Heimdall revealed himself at the hall’s end, gold eyes boring into Loki with knowing, a thing the god so loathed.   
“Oh?” He acted as they both didn’t know why Loki was headed the way he was going.   
“Loki.” the tone was grave, and while Heimdall did not possess foresight like his mother- he knew more than he was allowed to say. “Do not lie to her.” It was all the watcher said before he walked on, leaving Loki to fear perhaps, he would not find what he sought. But he had come thus far, used all his other options. Her diary was the last recourse, the final hope that would gain him the means to free her from her fate.

Simple enough to break in, simple enough to find the book, well worn, and likely enchanted to never run out of space- he broke the seal easily, slipping back to his own quarters none the wiser.

As he opened to the first page, he felt his heart clench. Her letters so perfect normally were slanted here, looser- more free. To think, only in a book she thought none could see she would let down the guard of her perfect writing. Each letter Loki saw only made his heart ache more for her, made him adore her gentle and sweet nature more, it made him smile, to see a side of her no other had known or bothered to know. But then the letters formed words. The words and sentences, and soon enough, Loki found himself reading secrets he was never meant to know.


	17. When you were there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader's diary entries, as read by Loki

It is strange.  
I got this book years ago, with money given to me by her grace for my work in the royal gardens, yet it is only now, when she has gone to Vahalla that I use it. I suppose it is melancholy of me, to think so fondly of her highness and the kindness she granted me and to reflect upon in in this way. I never was one for a journal, yet now I feel I have lost the only person who ever saw me. Saw me as more than a simple body at least. It is good and all to go unnoticed by the nobles, but it is painful to be unnoticed by all. 

It is better to be a shadow than a strumpet I suppose.  
Yet I cannot help but feel the loss of her Highness has left us all in a state of mourning. While many will celebrate the lives of those fallen, cheering over the death of Maleketh, the victory of Prince Thor- I can only wear a white ribbon in my hair, and pray that her majesty and his grace Prince Loki know I mourn them in my own way. 

I did not think to reflect upon him, yet now, my mind goes back to him and his nature.  
How unkind we have been to the man who has saved us with skills so long reviled. He died a violent, valiant death, this we know- yet I cannot help the anger I feel. It is worse than when he was lost to us. It feels like a sham- as it did then. All claim to have loved him, yet those same people long mocked and whispered ill of him. True, he was not overly kind and was true to his nature and worth every letter of his title, but he was not cruel. He did not deserve the mockery he got for his magic. For using his mind over might. 

How easy Asgardians have it knowing they can live so long, they can endure such wounds before being felled. None of them know the fragility of life- and when it is snuffed out, they act as if it will be returned.  
Brom will be angered if he find these words but I cannot help them now, my rage is so real I long to scream it. Ragnarok- as if such a thing would come. As if it might be kind. No- the only kindness it would give is end the suffering of the few, and destroying the complacency of the many. Death is not temporary, it is final.

The Prince’s one time return or not. 

I wish it were a trick though.

He was kind- he might have not known me and what I was, but because of that ignorance he was never unkind. When he came upon me in the library he would hand a book out of reach to me. He did not bother me with his tricks and snakes in the gardens when I worked. He never tried to chase my skirt, (though, I will admit at one time I wish he had- but all girls have such fancies I am told).  
It is sad- to know how unkind this world has been to him- and only in death is he embraced and wanted.  
I pray that he has found his peace in Valhalla, and that her majesty is there with him. For him and her grace, I will wear my white ribbon. I have no invite to a feast, and Brom will no doubt be at one for the night. I will make a small one. A feast for my own sorrows, a cup of stolen mead to be poured in their memory. I cannot recite songs but I will honor them in the Asgardian way, and in my own.  
This has been cathartic. Perhaps I will write my thoughts more often. Perhaps, not at all. Time will tell.

\---

I dreamed of home again. I cannot help it anymore, these tears. I am not a child, I am a woman grown. It has been a thousand years since I was there, walking upon the strange stones that jut from the sea. Shapes unique and strange, they were my playplace, although mam would cuff me good for going to the shore without her or da. Magic stones they said, and dangerous. Yet i loved them so, the way they were steps to the sea and sky- they way they could not be explained by any, and how they held secrets beasties and water creatures always nestled away waiting for the tides. 

I still remember it, even now. The way they felt under my bare feet and hands. The brine and air so vibrant. The way the seagrass slipped between my toes and the way the water sank my skirts and stole their color if I wash foolish enough to wear a nice one.  
The warm feeling of sun on my skin as I’d lay in the fields with the goats who’d nip at my hair and way they kids would bounce off me if I was not mindful. And the green! Oh I still know the color. Nothing like it is here. Nothing comes close. Nothing ever will I fear. Only once did I think I saw a glimpse of the same hue, but I did not look long.  
It is awkward to stare at someone’s eyes, much less one so frightening to my person. 

But as I sit here on my bed, my tears run dry, and my nose remains stuffed. I miss my memories. I miss mam. I miss da too, even if all I remember is his laughter and his hug- so warm and tight. I miss hearing them singing together at night. I miss her voice. I miss it all. Few and scattered these memories are, they are mine. I want her back. I want to go back. I never wanted to be here, cursed like this. Damned thrice over to live in this hellish, cruel, uncaring realm with hateful people who want only war and blood and death! 

They boast about their Godly selves and their benevolence. Yet each time they tout such I think of my mam’s face. To her agony as she writhed in pain as the apple killed from from the inside- as it killed me without a single throb or twinge of pain. The gift of immortality. If you could survive it. Punishment for Brom for his impunity. We were pawns, treated as playthings to an uncaring God and King. A tyrant. He is half mad now, rambling and making such strange changes now. True, for the better, but I suspect I shall always hate King Odin. I will hate him until my dying breath for all he stole from me.  
I hate Brom too. Mam should have just kept running. If I had known what it would mean to go with him I do not think I would have, that my mam would have said yes. She loved me- this I know.

She died for me a dozen times over. On that boat. In that vile house of horrors, and then when Brom grabbed her and took her away with his lies. I am sorry I am so hateful mam. I am sorry I am not strong like you. Please forgive me. I love you.  
I miss you.  
Please don’t hate me when I go. I want you back.  
I miss you.

\---

Eggs 2  
Flour 4 cups  
1 cup juice of the citruen  
4 cups sugar  
1 spoon of mustine jelly  
Pinch salt  
ONLY!! 1 jar cream (MUST BE FRESH!)  
Jar clot cream

Make normal cake- use juice for flavor, jelly for filling in center. Cream for topping and drizzle. Sub. yogurt if wanting more punch. 

\---

I forgot what I wished to write of, but I am upset and no longer crying as I was. I am tierd. I will make the cake above.  
V. good. Perhaps needs amber sugar and some mint.

\---

It has been four weeks since and now I recall why I was so upset. Some men took a fancy to trying to look up my skirts- and when I stabbed one with the gardening spade for their actions I was the one reprimanded! For defending my own honor! Brom was called to the palace and berated me in front of all the staff, which was humiliating- worse, he drank when we got back and took the hooks to my back again.  
I was probably hurting and crying so badly I forgot what i wished to write back then.  
But they healed as they always do. Without flaw. Brom boasts that.  
‘Flawless- at least I can say that about you, maybe if I show them some touched fool might finally take a fancy to you’.  
I’d sooner stab myself with the garden spade.

What I think I hate most of all is that Odin arrived in the middle of the whole affair and pardoned me!! The king! Pardoning me! For stabbing a guard! He said i was most skilled and the man was ‘lucky the lady did not wield a dagger, because had she, I’d have a corpse, though, with your actions it would be no great loss’. He even joked from Brom to make me a soldier. Brom laughed it off and for once I am glad.

I will never kill for Odin and his foolish wars. Asgard’s bloodlust is foolish and while the Queens death might have mellowed his ways, I do not trust Odin, mourning and grief-sick or not. 

I wish I could leave this place. Leave Asgard. Have the courage to ask that of Odin. To not even ask but to escape. To be as smart and sly as the late prince and slip away between the cracks of Ygdrasill and never look back. 

I wish someone actually liked me. Could like me. But it is a fools hope. Abominations don’t deserve love. It’s stupid to think I want attention. I hate it.  
I wish I could go home.

 

\---

It has been so long, and now I write in fear. So much has happened. So quickly. Odin- he wasn’t Odin but Loki! There were rumors, people suspected, but to hear it true! Thor had returned unannounced, shortly after Heimdall’s abdication of the Bifrost, (which really, was telling on it’s own). And poof! Loki dropped his illusion and reveled all. Odin had been on Midgard the whole time.  
And to think, had I not been a coward, Loki as Odin would likely have let me go without question, given his ire for the realm. But that matters little. 

Hela is a name I knew not, and yet Brom is thrilled. Apparently, what I have gleened is she was Odin’s first born, bloodthirst to such extremes Odin banished her. A Goddess of Death, she now claims sovereignty as is her birthright. Rebellion- most Einherjar are dead, along with the warriors three. Hela has said she will restore Asgard to it’s glory, starting with the nine realms, conquering. Apparently, Midgard is on her list. It is no longer safe for me. Those that have loathed my existence eye me with dark thoughts.  
Brom has already sworn fealty to the new Queen.  
I am scared.  
I have taken to hiding coins in my soles and a seed bag in my inner pockets. Brom’s old dagger is hidden in my coat. I am scared to walk to the palace to work. I ask the norns or whatever gods are above those of Asgard to watch over me. To give me the strength my mother said I have in my blood.

\---

There is talk of escape from Asgard. I will take what I can. If I die, let it be known.  
Brom Freyson is a monsterous, ugly, loathsome, spineless, cruel thing- for he is not even worth of being called a man- and may his soul rot in the foulest pits of the damned and never find any respite for all the sufferings he enacted and took joy in administering. May he fester in his own filth and may all who admired his nature be given festering boils for the rest of their days.

Let it also be known if there are good souls among Asgardians, only three have even been true.  
Her Majesty, Queen Frigga of Vanaheim, who looked upon me and granted me sanctuary.  
Prince Loki, who was not an Asgardian yet who was at heart, and who showed an abomination kindness not knowing it was so.  
Prince Thor, who spoke against his own father and found love beyond the blindness of his own people.

If I die, let these truths be known.  
I will flee when I can- What courage and strength is left in my defiled blood I will use now mam. I hope it is enough.

\---

I have little time, but I must put these thoughts to paper. So much has happened- and yet I am for once, happy? Hopeful? Feelings I thought lost are warm and strange in my chest. I managed to escape unnoticed in the final flight from Asgard, none who knew my face pushing me away. To think, the place I was forced to call home is gone. I watched it be rent asunder by Sutur’s hand.

Ragnarok is noting like it was supposed to be. I am uncertain if this is good or bad. But the Princes, (Kings?) Loki and Thor are with us, as are others. Aliens! They are polite if a bit rough. The rock one Korg is kind and asks kindly questions of me, if a bit tactless. 

But I am told the large green one, ‘Hulk’ is in fact a Midgardian! And we head there for sanctuary. The irony is not lost to me- the world ~~Prince~~ King Thor so loves and ~~Prince~~ King? Loki so hates is the goal. My home. It is like a dream? I know it will be different. But I want to see it again. To smell the brine and feel the sun and sea and be there again.  
To feel like I might have a place I belong. 

But- I fear for Loki. He saved us, once more nearly dying doing so. Dramatic to be sure, but he always has been. Yet he is earnest in his helping Thor. He watches over us all, and makes sure we have food and water and what we need.  
I am shamed to say he is the reason I live at all. I nearly fell out of the ship when we began to ascend, yet he was the one to pull me back from the edge, his arms keeping me steady as the doors closed. I am sure I would have fallen had it not been for him. Yet the moment I saw his face he winked at me and pressed a finger to my lips. Did he know? Does he know me? I doubt it, but I wonder.

I shouldn’t. Hope is a cruel thing. He has much better sights. I shant write more of this.  
My luck he will find this book and read it and mock me. It would not surprise me.  
If you do your highness, at least do so in private, so I might die of shame in my own making with some dignity intact.

\---

I cannot help it. I wept like a child again, yet I can at least know I was not the only one. Something, someone came and attacked the ship- and we have been set adrift in space. Our King, our Prince, our hopes are dead.  
The only good I have seen of Asgard is nothing but dust in the cosmos now- the ship blown to pieces and nothing intact.  
I can’t help also this anger. Everyone is crying over Thor but none speak a word of him! He was the one who guarded us as we fled to the escape vessels, he was the one who urged us to move, who’s voice guided us and commanded us and told us who to seek and where to go upon arriving on Midgard.  
And when those men tossed me out of the vessel, as I was on the floor, cast out when they recognize me, he was the one to pull me up and lead me to the final ship, handing me a dagger saying ‘Just in case.’

Did he know? Did he truly care? My heart is torn asunder in not knowing. He smiled for the few of us here. He waited by our side, protecting us until there was no time left. His words will haunt me eternal.  
“Asgard will not fall. We will return for you.”  
He shut the doors and sent us into space- towards the home I never had the courage to seek. Loki- you were a better man than they say, you are so smart and kind- please come back to us. Please do not let us mourn you again. I know of your crimes upon Midgard, but if they would harm you I would stand by you. You saved me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t die. Please come back, use your tricks and deception to come home with Thor. We cannot lose everything again. I’m scared and everything hurts and now some ugly old woman is glaring at me.  
Try and take this book from me you hag. I may not be a warrior, but I will fight to keep what is mine. I won’t let you or anyone else kill me. Not till I get home. 

\---

It has been some time since I last wrote. Half a year? It is hard to know, I do not date my entries. Thor came back. Broken and battered, he managed to return. Thor arrived and he helped us get more settled. I cannot say it is going well, but my options are limited at best.  
My home is nothing- gone to time and memory. Nothing feels like it was. It is from the change in time? Or is it because of me? Of that cursed apple that defiled my blood and made me a monster? I do not know, but not even the air is how I recall.

When we landed we were given sanctuary, Allies of Thor came to aid- yet I was cast away from the Asgardians- they claimed I hadn’t been among them, that I was some midgardian who slipped in and was pretending. I was so scared when they kicked me out and left me to fend on these streets. I know so little of this new Midgard. It took a week until they finally let me back in. Thankfully it was not the first time sleeping outside or hiding. Still, it was difficult. I think it hurt most was that the Midgardians here don’t even see me as Midgardian either. They see me as ‘other’. Different and unique. In the end my saving grace was the man who had been on the ship- Hulk? Bruce Banner apparently. He had arrived to earth and vouched for me, been a kind man who did his best to act as a defense from what I can only assume were unkind ideas for my person.

Yet his news saddened my heart.  
Thor and Loki both had lost the fight to this ‘Thanos’. And… up until Thor arrived, we thought him lost. Yet.  
Thor’s news hurts more?  
Loki was slain.  
I hope another deception. Another lie. But Thor held his body in his arms. Once more they hold a mockery of a celebration in his name.  
I have taken to wearing a white ribbon in my hair. His dagger is under my pillow.  
You did not know the kindness you gave me your highness, but I shall cherish it, and remember for all my days.  
May… … ... glo…y.. …..Valhalla.

_(Tears dot the page, ink too smudged to read any further)_

\---

I have spent the better part crying today. Prince Loki managed to survive. It was only a few weeks, yet it has felt like a lifetime. Our little kingdom feels whole again, (even if I am not apart of it). Thor has protected him well, as has Sir Banner, but other Midgardians are not so keen to trust. Rightly so. I wrote a letter on his behalf- Banner says it might help convince them of Prince Loki’s intentions. It is hard to deny the words of a woman who is considered an outsider to all, yet ‘insider’ as well. 

If all goes well our king and prince will begin the effort of relocation and housing. If I am lucky, I will be recognized but I doubt it. From what I have been told and have read sneaking into files I find- because I am Midgardian, I cannot stay with Asgard. Yet my ‘unique’ nature means I must not be treated as ‘normal’. I am told I shall be moved to a facility for temporary housing before being transitioned to ‘my homeland’. 

Yet how do I tell them my home is gone? I have come to know that now. It was a stupid, foolish dream to think this realm might be the one of broken childhood memories. I was so stupid. I hope the residence I am placed in will be kind. I know I will be tested on, they need to to make sure I am not too ‘other’ after all. They ‘need’ to make sure I am not deadly.  
I shan't tell them of the dagger then.  
Everyone is out celebrating. Yet here I am alone, writing in this stupid journal, wishing I could join them despite all the terrible aweful things they have done to me.  
I wish I had a home.

I want foolish things. Things I can’t write. I don’t have the words for them. But I am glad.

\---

I am Asgardian. The King has claimed me as such. I haven’t stopped crying. I gave them both my faith and trust and life completely. This is all I wanted. I just wanted to belong. I know it will take time for others to accept me, welcome me, but finally, I am Asgardian!  
I belong here.

\---

Stupid hopes dashed upon the rocks. I should have known better.

\---

I planted the garden a few weeks ago- and I’m thrilled it has taken root. Ha! They all mourn the loss of what they loved but I shan’t tell them what I have. I will share it with only those who are truely Asgardian- who are the ones who are worthy of being such. I hope they like cookies- it is the only thing I can bake so far, but once the fruits come in, I will make them a pie. One each.

\---

My heart is thundering! He found me, my garden- and now I have a job in the palace! He seemed so happy. I thought he would kill me for taking her majesty's rose. But the look in his eyes. He was so… sad? Happy too. I wanted to save it, for them, from Hela. It feels good to know my gift was not for nothing, that I made the right choice.  
He did steal my pie however, but it is a small price to pay for this gift he has given me in turn. He smiled at me, and was so true in his words. No wonder he is known as a lie smith, had I been a weaker woman I’d have fallen for anything he told me. But the light in his eyes spoke only true words, sincere and kind.  
I nearly wanted to cry when he complimented my garden. It has been so long since anyone cared. Since his lady mother saw and cared. How alike they are. He asked for the rose and for me to grow more.  
I will, I will grow a garden of roses for him. He has been more kind to me in scant moments than his own people have in a thousand years it feels like.

\---

They burned down the garden. My house. I am not surprised. I was supposed to get a room but the man told me to wait outside. It has been four hours since and the stars have come out. At the very least, the grass is soft and the tree wide. 

\---

I want to sink into the floor in my shame. His highness sent me racy items and I wore them. More I wore them then went to his chambers expecting the worst. What else was I to think? I know what men whisper of me, what they want from me. I expected he wanted the same now that he knew what and who I am.  
I need to apologize for thinking so poorly of him. 

I acted like a fool and shamed him and myself. I wept on his shoulder and he comforted me, undeserving as I am. I could not help my tears. He was so gentle and warm. He covered me and returned me to modesty and told me stories and tales of his youth as I tried to calm my fears. He says I own him nothing, but I do. If he will not accept my wergeld, I will devote myself to his service. As I served his lady mother I will serve him. He alone is worthy of such. 

\---

He visits me often these days, I know not what to think. But it is nice. I think we might be friends? I.. hope? I should not. He is a prince. I am a freak. His kindness is simply pity. But it is a kindness all the same, and I will welcome it.

\---

He said he isn’t Asgardian but he does not see what I do. He holds the best of his people in him. Their honor, their cunning and skill. The magic and the wisdom when to use it. He is not perfect- but he is who he is. He says he is not Asgardian but he was right in that I am not. 

He is my prince, he will always be my prince. Even if he cannot be my friend, this will not change. He once asked Midgardians to bow and they would not. I will. I always will. He deserves that from me at the very least.  
I doubt he will break my curse. Stupid.  
I should not hope for what is hopeless.

\---

I did not think being called ugly would hurt as it did. But when it is from another Midgardian.. It hurts more? I have spent enough time crying over it. Fuck that Agent whoever he is. May his cock gain festering boils and make all his liaisons unpleasant. 

\---

I found a snake in my shoe this afternoon and yet his highness was nowhere to be found. I wish he’d not try and send the poor things to me. Adorable they are, but I can’t stop to pet every lizard I come across. I might need to have words with him if this keeps up.

But- a man did ask me to the ball. I… hope it is true? He has been ardent in his pursuit. It is the first time I have felt there is a chance. I am buying a dress tomorrow and I even am hoping he likes it.

\---

I was stupid again. I wanted to think maybe that man was not so cruel but hope is a bitter taste as ever. I was too proud to leave either. I’ll have caught a cold no doubt.  
Why did it have to be his highness to find me? To comfort me again? I hate it. I wish I was stronger. I wish I was better.

Telling him feels like a weight had been lifted, yet now I have set myself up for failure. He says he will find a way to break my curse, but it is too late. I cannot bare the truth. My name and voice are lost- I have accepted that. But the determination in his eyes, the resolution in his voice. I can almost believe him. I can almost think they are not lies. How bittersweet, the liesmith would think his words true, and the one who knows them false unable to tell him so.  
I am a coward.

\---

It is funny how I see now how he sends men my way. Most have little want of me. More, they see me less as a person and more an object. Yet I am touched. His highness has kept his word. Silly as it is, it is nice to be looked after.

\---

I should have written in here sooner. I met someone. Lothrin. He’s nice. He might be loud and rather forward but he is nice. Safe. We’re going on a date but no matter how hard I try… I can’t. I just need to try harder. After all, love is a choice isn’t it? I will make it work. It has to work after all.

\---

Let it be known I am a stupid fool. 

\---

I keep crying. Always when I make sure no one will find out of course. But I can’t help it. Im weak and a coward and so so stupid. He asked me to marry him and I said yes. I just want to think maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I misheard or the rumors are fake. He has to love me if he wants to marry me right? I told him of my lacking my true name and he just laughed it off- not even asking. Its okay I mean, if we get married, we’ll have all the time to share secrets and he’ll be able to try and find it and break the curse. I’m just scared I’m a fool again. That it really is a lie.  
But It cant be. He wants to marry me.

\--- 

Hello journal, I write more and more in you. The dress is ugly. The food for the wedding is nothing I like, and I have no friends or family who will be sitting on ‘my side’. I have no handmaidens and no women who would help me so all must be done on my own. It is supposed to be a happy day but I know it’s not. He lied. I know, but maybe, maybe he’ll stay. Maybe he’ll have to. Maybe over time he will love me. I do not know. But if I pretend- maybe it will be nice.

I can pretend at least. That I’m happy, that he loves me. It might not last, but it is something.

\---

He found out. He told me how. I couldn’t bare it. He was so earnest, so pure and good and kind when he asked me to call it off. He is the best of us- he truly is. Yet it is done. I have made my choice. I have never known what it is like to feel loved, truly. He was so angry on my behalf but I can’t let him do anything rash, much less for me. He’d already done so much.

I want to tell him everything.  
But it doesn’t matter.

I will survive as I have, I’ll marry Lothrin and maybe it will work. I’ll learn to love him. Or, we will separate and I will know what love might feel like, or resemble if just for a moment. It doesn’t matter really.  
The man I love is not mine, he never will be, and I know that, I always have.

After all, how could a prince love an abomination?


	18. In where Loki fails

His hands shook.  
The last line ran through his head a dozen different ways. A dozen different meanings all not what laid in plain bold truth upon paper in dark black ink.   
Surely, she meant Thor? She mean some other man? Maybe that Wakandan? Perhaps she was mistaken with one of the diplomats? It couldn’t be him. It would never be him, not in a million lifetimes could it be him. They hardly knew each other didn’t they, (a lie, he knew her better than any other woman in New Asgard). She had far better prospects, (he’d never seen her show interest in others). She was in love with that oaf Lothrin, (no- she just lied to herself about that. It was in front of him. The truth! I madness of it all!).

His hands shook as they held the journal open, green eyes tracing each letter of the last entry.

She was in love with him. 

And he was going to let her marry a man who didn’t love her.

Loki didn’t realize when it started. The wet drops hitting paper before he could stop them. Weakness- to cry like a child over all the things unsaid, of the signs he’d dismissed, ignored, glossed over. He had never encouraged it. Never wanted it… hadn’t he? He paid her no great mind. He didn’t try to seduce her. Did she love him only because he showed her basic decency? (Her words spoke more, or infatuation, of respect and admiration and understanding and longing-)  
A fool. A fool he’d been, to tell her he would break her curse, not realizing he’d doomed her in that same breath. Love in a spell went two ways. Unless she was loved it would not break- but she too would have to love.  
And she loved him.   
He’d wronged her. Cheated her of a happiness with such backhanded ignorance. Her spell would never be broken- she loved him. A monster, a false prince unworthy of the woman who’s heart was too good for a liar-god. How had he been so arrogant, so ignorant, so foolish? Tears were pushed deep, his misery compounded by the agony in his chest. All her suffering born in silence. How many times had she gone on those dates, trying to ignore her feelings? To force herself to lie and smile and act like the truth was not boldly in front of her. She’d tried. All those months, she’d swallowed her feelings for him and dated, courted others, just to remain even now as she was.

In love with him.

All this time, he thought- how long? How long had she truly been in love with him? From her entries perhaps even before Hela. Maybe on the Statesman? She’d mourned him. Not once, not twice, but thrice. Three times to mourn and miss him and wish for his return. Three times to see the irony of his death, and pray for his peace and happiness in Valhalla. Her sincerity bled into the book and Loki stifled a choked howl of agony at the knowledge. She’d _mourned_ him.   
She _loved_ him.  
Was _in love_ with him. 

And he-  
He didn’t love her. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t. He was doomed, cursed and other. His race was reviled, his crimes many, and his nature dark. Chaos ran in his blood and he would bring the end of all in due time. She was ill suited for him. She was deserving of so much more, so much better-  
Yet she loved him. Chosen to love him. Had tried not to and failed.

Each smile she sent to him. Each bundle of herbs. Each drop of her grace and warmth she gave him- it had all been born of her love for him. And he’d written it off. He’d ignored the signs in front of him and shoved away the possibility, the notion. He’d never entertained the thought, (but he had).   
She said to let it go, to accept it, to respect her choice. But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not knowing this- knowing he could stop it. He could break her spell if he tried, if given time. She didn’t have to suffer, to endure needless cruelty and violence just to feel the mockery, the facsimile of love. 

 

The journal was left on the table as Loki took to the grounds, green eyes hunting for red hair.

He nearly missed her. He didn’t find her until the morning of. Almost did not find her at all, and when he did- he could have wept once more. Gone were the red tresses. Gone was the vibrant green in her once warm eyes. Dull and hollow- her hair bleached blonde as if to appear more Asgardian. One of the ladies he heard in the salon even comment such.   
“He’s good taste having you bleach and dye it. It makes you look much better.” Loki would kill her, kill Lothrin, kill all of them. His little gardener looked so small, curled in the chair, hair pinned for a testing of style for the wedding no doubt. He nearly stormed in- but he hissed. He had to speak to her privately. Anything less would cause attention.   
“Oh Prince Loki! Come in, we’re just getting the last of the a-” The woman faltered. He wondered if she used the term around Ariel before he’d shown. “The assigned work done on Ariel.” not a lie, but the ash lingered like an aftertaste. So close she skirt the edges.   
“Oh?” He pretended to not be ready to stab her in the neck, from killing all the women in the salon, looking at the immortal Midgardian with contempt and ire. “And what work was that? Make her look like anything but herself?” The woman paled. Good. Let her stew in her own blunders and unease.  
“Er- she looked much nicer blonde though. And Lothrin-”  
“Lothrin is a fool to rob her of the red she is so known to have.” He looked at her, his little gardener, and his heart was pained to see her eyes now dull, looking at him, silently begging to not speak on her behalf. But he would. He would speak for her if she would not speak for herself.   
“She is beautiful with red hair- and it suited her far better.” His heart tightened. A pale blush, a glitter in those green eyes before it was snuffed out, swallowed and hidden. He wanted to tell her he knew, that it was alright. But he let it rest.  
“I came to speak with her about the ceremony and what to expect. When you are done here Ariel, please meet me in the Solar, there are some last minute things to go over.” He nodded to the women and retreated. A glance to Ariel made his heart since as he left- she smiled sadly as the women began speaking in hushed tones. She deserved better.

 

Sure enough, she came as bid- and not without signs of her torment. Her hair was pinned tight to her scalp, and he could see it pulling at her skin. Her bow was met with his hands reaching, having her stand and without word, he began to undo the painful things that kept her hair up.   
“Those hags did you a disservice.” He hissed, noticing how one pin was so close to the scalp; the skin was red- inflamed. He’d flay them.  
“Blonde- Lothrin has not an ounce of tact or taste. You look like one of those models that come and try to seduce Thor-” The pins fell to the ground, and he thread fingers through the abused locks, rubbing them on her scalp to sooth the burn. “I have half the mind to restore the color with magic.”

She did not look at him, did not touch him- but the sigh. The sigh of relief as he removed the pins, as he soothed her scalp made him relax, made him feel like for once, he’d done something right. Then- she looked at him. The eyes so dull now a bit bright- and his chest tightened, knowing why.  
“Ariel.” He spoke softly as if the world could hear past the barrier he’d put up. He’d never tell her secret, never betray her so.   
“Call off the wedding. There is still time.” She smiled bitterly, shaking her head, eyes closing, denying-

“I know your feelings.” She stiffened, he could feel the pulse racing as he held her hands brought them to his chest.  
“I know now who it is you love.” Wide eyes, wet with unshed tears, she jerked, to pull away, head shaking.  
“I know you love me!” He yelled, she stilled.   
“I know you’re in love with me. That is why the spell won’t break. That is why you feel you must do.. Do this.” He motioned to her hair, the pins fallen on the floor. Heat radiated from her face. Shame, embarrassment- he hated those looks on her.   
“It doesn’t matter.” She looked away, lips trembling. “If you love me- then let me try Ariel. Let me try to break the curse. I- might, given time. I do not know. But please, do not go through with this. Do not marry him. We can find another way. I can find a curse breaker. I’ll call in favors. But please, darling, anything but this. Do not waste yourself on that monster.”   
Do not make me fail you once more.

Her hands in his, they twitched and moved, begging for pen and paper. Items he summoned without thought, placing them in her hands as she sniffed back tears, her makeup smeared already.   
The wedding was not even an hour away.

‘You don’t even know my name.’

It didn’t matter. It would never matter.   
“I’ll find it. I swear- Just… give me time. We-” His heart thundered.   
“We could wed. If you love me, I can try in return. I will find a solution. Anything. We have time Ariel. All I would need is-” Her words cut him off dead at start.  
‘I can’t ask that of you.’  
“What- Ariel what do you mean?”  
‘You can’t love me. I cannot expect it. You deserve real love- freely given and freely made.’ She looked at him and he saw that emotion he’d never been able to name.  
He saw in her eyes the love she had for him. Pure. True.   
‘You are a good man, better than so many would think. But I cannot make you love me. It is wrong to ask it of you.’ He didn’t know what to say, His silver tongue turned to lead.  
‘I love you my prince. But you don’t have to lie for me.’

 

How soft her lips. How warm her breath on his skin. The scent of fresh earth and life and flowers that clung to her so sweet an aroma of gentle life.   
She leaned away her smile sad yet happy all at once. A secret weight gone, her curse known and her heart finally understood. Finally free.  
She let go of his hand and walked away.

His fingers touched his cheek, the warmth of her kiss lingering.  
Outside, the first bell rang- the ceremony would start at the hour’s end. 

And Loki, looking to the door which she’d left, could only think one thing.  
He’d failed her, one final time.


	19. In where Loki admits his lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BUCKLE UP FAM ITS TIME

He paced. Back and forth, back and forth, the click of boots on the floor echoing around him. A tiger pacing it’s cage, the dark chaos in him begged to be let free, to run wild as he’d go and sabotage the wedding, stop it, ruin it somehow. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to her, make a mockery of her choice. She’d be slandered, her reputation ruined all for what? His pride? (Her happiness, the love she deserved and not the mockery of it). 

It was going to be televised the world over. Live steamed. The first Asgardian wedding on Midgard to the resident Midgardian no less. The ward of the state to the common man. One hour. One hour to think of a plan. One hour to find a way to stop what he knew would kill the woman he so admired and adored and wanted to see smile for once for her own happiness. He wanted to see her happy.

The knock on the door of the solar went unanswered, Loki, wringing his hands- worry, his tell habit picked up from his mother. He half expected it to be Thor reminding him to dress and ready for the ceremony, yet instead it was Heimdall.  
“Your efforts-”  
“Were in vain.” He finished glaring at the guardian. Interloper who never lifted a finger. How many times had the man seen and said nothing? How long had he known and done nothing. Odin’s rule be damned, how many crimes did the watcher witness and let happen even knowing it was a cruel injustice?  
“She will see it through, despite not loving. Despite knowing his plans, knowing he will use her. Not to mention she doesn’t even love him. Just pretending! After all, pretending is just as good isn’t it? Worked wonders for me playing at Asgardian for all those year didn’t it?” He hissed, green mage fire burning at the golden eyed man who calmly stood at the threshold of the door.  
“Loki-” He shook his head. “It is not as if she loves another. It is not our place to-”  
“Oh but that is the irony of it all!” He laughed, bitterness in each sound. “She does love another! Can you guess who?” He didn’t answer. “Me! Of all the men in the universe, she had to fall in love with me. The monster. The black prince. The frost giant.” He hadn’t spoken poorly of himself in such a way in months, but his anger gave way to the pain that would always linger there. Still, Heimdall said nothing, looking out to the hall. Good, Loki thought. Let any hear, (do not let them hear). Let all know the prince was still as he’d always been- a monster masquerading as a man. 

“I am no expert on such things your highness.”  
“No, you are not.”  
“But why does the matter of her love of you and her marriage to another vex you so?”

He opened his mouth to yell about injustice, about how she deserved better, how Lothrin was unworthy. How she should be made to smile. How her curse should be broken. How she was someone to be cherished and adored and worshiped for all her days. She was gentle and kind, and smart and witty and-

He looked at Heimdall and wondered.  
“What do you see?”  
His smirk was laced with humor.  
“A man who might be a god, but is ignorant to his own power.”

He wasn’t.  
He couldn’t be.  
He was her prince yes, but she wasn’t his. He couldn’t have her, not like that. She was fated for a man far greater than that of a snake.  
“Fate Loki, has been written before. It will be written again.” Golden eyes caught his own, and the God of Mischief felt a fool. His own trick playing back on him. “Ragnarok has come and gone- what is this new life but a new story?”

What was he doing? What had he been doing? He blinked, hands clenching and unclenching. Lie after lie- how could he taste his own? He’d never spoken it. Never said it. Never wanted to give voice to what he felt when his thoughts went to her, to what she was to him. What he wanted her to be. What he thought her worthy to be- and more.

He ran.

Gold and green is magic swirled around him as he raced through halls, invisible as he planned. 

_She had saved the flowers of the queen from Hela, from the burning of Asgard, because she had believed they would return, that he would return._

He found Lothrin with his companions half drunk, laughing about the plans for ‘afterwards’. Of their twisted fantasies and depraved notions. Loki sneered. He should last second send the men away on some errand. Make them drive into the sea ‘on accident’. But no- not today. But eventually, he’d have them rue the day they thought they might touch her, hurt her, use and abuse her. He would have them regret- but not today.

_She had believed him when he said he would return when sending her from the Statesman, to Midgard, far from Thanos._

How easy, painfully so it was to lure Lothrin aside from his companions. How easy to offer him mead and lace it with a sleeping draught. How simple to stuff him into the trunk of a cab and send said cab to a city an hour away. Laughable in how easy it all was. 

_She had written on his behalf, believing he would do good. That he wouldn’t cause strife for Midgard, that he was a changed man._

Lothrin’s wedding attire was ill suited, but it only need last a while. Long enough to fool Thor, to fool everyone in attendance. 

_She looked at him, trusting him so freely. Believing that he could break her curse, even knowing it’s demands._

The bells began to ring, and he eyed Thor at the altar, the ribbon waiting to bind his little gardener to a man unworthy of her. 

 

Loki smiled behind a face not his own. He spoke with a voice he didn’t have as he watched her walk down the Aisle, noting how she walked alone, how half the hall was empty- no kin or kind to witness her wedding. None who would claim her as their own. How painful his chest felt, as her eyes looked up towards Thor and the space next to him where _he_ should have been standing. Even as she walked to her marriage to another man, her love yet lingered, if only for a moment. Then those eyes looked at him, at Lothrin, and the color faded. The green dull and grey. Her once blonde hair robbed of the vibrant hue, her dress leeching color from her pale skin. 

Her hand was small in his own, warm, and so limp. Was this all she had left in her? Was this the final act of the death of her joys? Of the goodness and happiness? The loss and sacrifice of her hope? 

Loki looked at her behind Lothrin’s eyes and no longer saw the little gardener.

He saw the woman he loved, ready to let her hopes die one final time.


	20. In where Loki finds Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to not be cruel y'all can have the chapter otherwise it would have been a 2 day wait be glad i am a merciful angst loving god.

Thor’s voice echoed in the hall, and vaguely, he could hear the buzz of the crowd and the click of cameras and reporters, all vying to record the wedding that should never be. She smiled for them, lying with each motion, with each grin and blush. A skilled actress, he admired her fortitude, her strength to do such. To push on even towards her own end. How brave she was, to have herself so exposed, to put herself on such a display that all would see her lack of kin and friends. To expose the sad nature she lived in- to be an outcast in a world so many saw as ideal. 

He held her hand in his own, thumb rubbing over knuckles, trying to sooth her, only for her eyes to be alight with concern over the action. Had Lothrin never shown her a kind touch? Shown her concern so openly? He realized it was unlikely. Yet out of character it was, he persisted. He wanted to embrace her, tell her it would not come to be. He’d put a stop to it. He was putting a stop to it. She’d never need worry. She’d never have to suffer anymore. Never again would she need to feel outcast. Never to feel alone.

He would not allow it ever again.

As they drank the honey mead, she blanched as the cloyingly sweet drink ran down her throat, a drop escaping her lips to drip down her chin. How stupid he was, reaching out to wipe it away, her body tensing at the action.   
Never knowing a gentle touch. Never having another care for her so.   
He’d never let her feel anything but. Her days would be filled with only the touches of comfort and care. Never ire or disgust. 

The dagger drawn across her palm he scowled at the sight of dark red blood. She didn’t flinch or even wince. She knew pain, she knew suffering.  
He’d put a stop to that. Not a drop of her life would leave her- never would she feel blade’s sting or the pain of injury. Nothing would harm her for the rest of her long life.

Their hands clasped, blood mixing with blood, the burn of the pain and open wound as the golden cloth was wound around their hands. Magic poured around them, words spoken.

Life to death.  
Heart to heart.  
Two as one.

They were bound by fate and fortune- and their union would be favored by the norns.   
The birds cried out. Blessed their union, the norns looked upon it and approved.

And then just like that.  
It was over.

The knot removed, their hands let go. A line of gold scarred on their skin.   
He smiled, grins, his heart hammering as the illusion holds firm, as their gathered cheer and clap. Cried for them to kiss-

And yet she looks forlorn. Her mask slipping as the weight of her choice finally falls upon her. She chose this. But then- so has he.  
No more lies, no more unspoken words. He will have her truth- moreso, he will have her.  
“I hope you will not hate me.” His voice is for her ears only. It is true- she might hate him. The invasion of her privacy. The disrespect of her choice. The robbery of her freedom. The binding that cannot be undone.

“Sigyn.”  
Her eyes widen, he body tenses, and she does not move, does not react beyond that. Cameras click, the masses wait for her to turn, to kiss him, and oh, he will- but only if she would want him, if only she can forgive him for stealing her away from all she has ever known.  
Her lips trembles, her eyes mist, looking up at his so afraid, so confused.  
“Sigyn.” He repeats it again. Louder, knowing the microphones will pick it up.   
His hand cups her face, making her look at him, eye to eye, and he repeats it.  
“My love, Sigyn.”

He can see her doubt, her terror and fear and hope and sorrow and torment in her eyes. She doubts. She is tense, her body wanting to run, but his hand on her face is soft, holding her in place, holding her still with no effort at all.   
How cruel a joke he thinks, that she would doubt. How painful, to think it a lie. She doesn’t know he thinks, after all, she had no formal education, she’d not known the myths. Not know the smaller details of ragnarok. Of fate and lives starting anew.

“Do you not love me as well?” He reaches, scarred hand holding her own. Smiling, acting like he is mild affronted, playing to the cameras, to his people, confused and pulling back as he makes a mockery of tradition. The bride and groom do not share words- they kiss, they remove themselves. Even Thor, from the corner of his eyes, is confused looking at Lothrin, (Loki), like he has gone mad.  
“Tell me my darling,” Her breathing is growing heavier, here eyes wet with tears threatening to fall.   
“Do you love me?”

 

He lip trembles.  
Her hands shake.   
Eyes flicker over his face, over the mask he wears, over the lie she has forced herself to believe and think is her fate. She motions to him but Lothrin, (Loki), shakes his head.   
“No, tell me, do you love me?” His voice is loud, the cameras hum, the people murmmer, yet there is a silence, a din of nothing as he waits.

_”Yes.”_   
Nothing else matters. Her tears flow like water as she clings to him, a sob leaving her throat. Her lie exposed. Spoken. Known. Her worst fears and yet her highest hopes crashing into one.

His mask fades, and he knows Thor is yelling, there is screaming. Shouting. None of it can touch him, none of it matters.

“And I you.”   
Her lips taste of sunshine and hope.

Her lips taste like truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a short epilogue planned but this brings the story of Loki and his mute love to a close. Thank you for joining me on this angst ridden tour I hope I at least got a few tears out of you. I'm curious as to how well playing off of Loki's POV rather than traditional reader/OC view worked for this fic; so if you want to leave thoughts on it I'd appreciate it, as this was a departure from my normal style. 
> 
> And for those waiting on Touching Valhalla, Fly Away, and Afternoon Rush rejoice! Those will be getting updates hopefully within the month. I'm also going to be more active about my fic updates and activities on my twitter so if that interests you (or just memes in general), head over to https://twitter.com/iStoleYurVamps. Thank you again for tolerating my diverging from the other fics to indulge this one and suffering through the slough of angst that was our leading lady's life.


	21. Epilouge

The camera flashed, spots dotting his eyes for a moment as the lady behind the lense thanked them for their time.  
“Pardon.” Her hands reached out to signal the woman. “Would you- um, please send us a copy? I’ve never quite had a portrait done before.” Her fingers worried at the cuff of her sleeves, a few threads having come loose.   
“Of course your highness! I’d be happy to- It’s not everyday you get to photograph royalty, much less alien royalty you know!” As the photographer packed, Loki looked at her, shyly casting her eyes down towards the roses that made up their backdrop.

“Sigyn..” Loki never would tire of her name, and how she’d perk up, eyes finding his own, so warm with affection. He almost was able to hold back the pleased hum he made when she smiled, leaning into him to kiss his lips for what was perhaps the 20th time that morning.   
But he hummed. He found it happened often with her. The feeling of contentment, or, as close to it as he’d ever known.  
“Sorry.” She whispered against his mouth. “I’m still not very used to it. All the attention and I’m not-”  
“Hush little love,” he pressed his forehead to her own, reaching down to take her hands in his, lifting them to kiss the worn knuckles. “You know how I feel about when you disparriage yourself. Now, I believe you said you’ve never had a portrait done?” 

His smile must have betrayed him, as a moment later her face went as red as her hair and she pouted at him. “Loki.”  
“Sigyn.” He kissed her hands again.  
“Loki!”  
“My dear Sigyn.” He kissed her cheek.  
“LOKI!”   
“My sweet, lovely Sigyn.” His kiss was met with a playful shove.  
“You are impossible.” He knew she’d caught onto his thoughts- and what lavacious images he’d likely had at the thought of what kind of portraits he’d ask of his wife. 

His wife.  
His _wife._

It had been several months since he’d tricked everyone in Asgard at the ‘wedding of the year’. By Asgardian law, she and he had shared vows, and the Norns themselves had shown their approval and blessing. Not to mention she hadn’t wanted to dissolve them- Thor himself had officated, and he couldn’t go against the will of the Norns. Plus…

He looked down at the tiny bump that was his little wife’s belly. He was rather proud of that- the moment he’d dropped the illusion and kissed her, he’d bid Thor, and all of Asgard a farewell before whisking his new bride to their impromptu honeymoon. Seven days later he was very pleased to announce his wife was already pregnant with his heir. Heirs if he was to be be technical. 

“You’re doing it again.” Her voice was soft, a whisper.   
“Doing what darling?” He teased her and the sigh she made is one he never will tire off, so laced with affection, with a happiness he knows well.   
“Thinking mischief things.” His smile was wide as he bent, whispering to her womb and their sons. How their mother is too smart for her own good, and he only wished to see about having a painting done of her naked and hanging above their bed-  
The tiny sound from his wife’s throat had him looking up, her flush face making his ego swell. 

Every sound she made was his victory. Every sigh, whimper, gasp, groan, whisper, shout, simper, admonishment- it does not matter what leaves her lips.  
Each sound is heaven to him. It is his dream to hear nothing but her voice. Nothing but his name from her lips.   
He kissed her again and can’t help but deepen it when he heard Thor coughing to get their attention.  
“Loki-” He kept kissing his wife, turning so they didn’t have to look at Asgard’s king. “Loki, please stop making out with Sigyn, you’re both going to be late if you keep stalling like this.” He would have liked to keep kissing her, but his wife was the more sensible of them, her hands gently pushing him back, telling him they really ought to listen to Thor and yes, go to another interview about whatever it is Midgardians want to know when it came to his and Sigyn’s private affairs.

Though, he was very pleased that for once, he had the spotlight and for reasons not related to misdeeds. 

As far as Midgard was considered, they found his and Sigyn’s tale pleasing. The lone Midgardian immortal commoner, who managed to capture the heart of the dark and wayward prince. How she tamed him, (hardly, she tempered him- and was often still the one to encourage his antics at diplomatic dinners when someone got too forward with their political grandstanding), and how his dear wife was fated to be his love.   
The roses had never been a more vibrant color, and their leaves shimmered in the summer light. 

His mother, Loki reflected, had likely known. Or had some inkling to Sigyn’s and his future. He should have sensed it given how he’d found the rose with her, bloomed no less. They had never once bloomed for any other. And now?

“Sire.” The giant bowed, his blue skin and stature standing out against the throng of asgardians milling about the palace. “Will you still be able to meet with the delegates for Utgard?” He waved off the emissary, not wanting to deal with the affairs of Jotunheim. Yet ever his better half, Sigyn smiled and nodded.   
“We will Strof- please tell the lords we did not mean to delay. See that the meeting happens over supper.” Her hand laced in his own, a squeeze to ask him his approval. Such a silly woman. She could tell the frost giants to go to war with Asgard and he’d support her.   
“See to it Straud.”  
“It’s Strof Loki.” She admonished him as the giant walked away. He knew the man’s name, not that he cared. But his wife’s light admonishment at his flippancy made nothing but affection well in his chest.

She was the only one who could draw these feelings in him. Some nights, he feared her. The power she held over him. How so guileless, so pure and good and kind of a woman could control him but with a simple smile or a tiny frown. He would move the very stars in the sky for her if she asked and it terrified him. She was the one person he feared more than even Thanos, and it was not because she could hurt him.  
It was always because he simply loved her so, and his love made him weaker than anything else in the universe.

“Loki?” She reached up, fingers brushing his face, drawing him back to reality from his thoughts. “I-”  
“Hrm?” He acted like he had not been thinking of her, of how much power she wielded, of how she was perhaps, the most powerful woman of the nine realms- princess of Asgard, princess of Vanaheim, and Queen of Jotunheim and his favorite title, Avatar of Midgard.   
“Do you think tonight, we can watch the stars again?” Her voice was soft, her request making her face blush with the meaning, the love and affection behind it. 

That first night as husband and wife they had watched the stars together, had held one another and confessed their love while only the Norns could watch them.

He would spend a thousand nights under the gaze of cosmos, as long as they were with her.  
“Of course.” His heart tightened, his entire being felt like it would combust as she smiled for him, as she glowed, radiant in her happiness, so honest and pure and true.   
He would never tire of it.  
Never would he ever have enough of seeing her so- happy and knowing he was the cause of her joy. 

He looked at the wall of thorns that covered the palace wall- that had started as but a humble bramble that refused to blood for any other.

Sigyn’s gaze followed his own and he felt her lean into him. He could feel what else lingered there- the magic that had once been Odin’s love for Frigga in the roots, making the flower bloom only for the woman worth of them. The magic that now was he own, born of her love for him. From her and no other. No longer Frigga’s rose, but her’s.   
She was smiling as she looked to the roses, a vibrant blue in full bloom, golden vines glittering and casting light to the gardens she’d help grow.  
The rose that only would bloom for her- his love, his wife, his queen.  
.   
His hand moved, rubbing over the thin scar of their wedding ceremony, the mark they would carry until time would reach it’s end and the universe ceased to exist.

They walked to the interview to speak of their future, of each other, of love and fate and foolishness. Of her smile, and how it was no longer a lie but truth. Of how Loki finally felt he was worthy- not to call himself a king, or to even call himself Asgard’s prince.

But of how he finally felt worthy for the woman he loved.


End file.
